The Apple of My Eye
by ThisBurningHeart
Summary: I'm going to be honest. He's good looking, alright? That thought doesn't scare me. But sharing a moment with him? Now THAT was scary...
1. Chapter 1

HEY you guys! This story is a result of several things. After getting fabulous feedback on What They Never Knew (come on guys, read that before this one. PLEASE! IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT, DO SO NOW!) I was pretty inspired to take a break from my SM writing, and do a bit more HP fiction. So there I was, all motivated, and sitting bored out of my mind in my Spanish 4 class. The opener to this story was a result. Now, 2 days later, I finished up the opening chapter (today) and posted, because I am home sick. frowns.

And oh! You'll be quite surprised by something in this story. It's written in first person! How uncharacteristic of me, no? It's really weird, really strange, but I don't know, maybe if you have my sense of humor, you'll like it.

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE**

Generally speaking, I'm not really one to take notes. In fact, generally speaking, I'm not one to do much of anything in History of Magic. Why Professor Binns even possibly thought I was listening was beyond me.

I sat in an old fashioned desk, absently twirling a quill around so as to mimic a writing motion. Everyone once in awhile I would cast a wayward glance at the large window next to me. Thank Merlin for the last name that put me at the end of the alphabet, and near the window. Satan knows what I'd have done if not for its many forms of entertainment. If I strained my eyes hard enough, I could catch glimpses of students making their way across the grounds during Care of Magical Creatures, or Herbology. You'd be amazed at how much you can learn about people by watching them from afar. It really is quite remarkable. It's like I'm in two places at once! Except, my mind really wasn't there, in History of Magic, but that's beside the point.

On this particular day, I was quite certain that I had seen Ron and Harry walk towards Hagrid's place. I watched them for a while before muttering a vision enhancement charm under my breath. It was indeed Ron and Harry.

The pair was sitting on a large and rather grotesque looking old tree stump, apparently waiting for Hagrid to emerge from his hut and start class. I smiled as I watched the two laugh back and forth. They were quite the duo. At times, I'd swear their laughter was contagious. Course, those were the times that it wasn't dreadfully annoying.

A flicker of movement and a flash of red caught my eye, and my eyes darted away from them. A lengthy blonde boy stood a few feet back, munching on the most gorgeous apple I had ever seen. Or maybe it was him that made the apple look so good. Deciding not to dwell on that thought, I watched as he turned to a few people behind him and smirk. The twit. Did he have to do that? Nonetheless, I swallowed at the sight. I wouldn't be the first girl to think Draco Malfoy was erm…_attractive_, for lack of a better word, and I'd be _damned_ if anyone knew I was on the list at all.

He inclined his silver head in Ron and Harry's general direction, and took what appeared to be the final bite out of his very red apple. That's another thing about Draco Malfoy. How _does_ he manage to have both silver hair, and silver eyes, yet they are almost entirely different shades? He's ridiculous. Perhaps that was what made me imagine the crunch that final bite had made, the sweet juices washing over his taste buds. I wiped my brow, and stopped myself just short of imagining just how that juice would taste on his sharp tongue.

Gracefully, he tossed the fat core into the air, and caught it again. Upon catching it, he drew his leg up, and drew in his arms, closely resembling a player in one of those muggle sports…what was it called again? Faceball?

He pitched forward, his arm making a long arching stroke that seemed to cut the air as he hurled the monstrous thing towards….

Okay, I laughed. I couldn't help it! Sure, I probably shouldn't have, and sure, Malfoy was still a twit with unnaturally appealing features, but hell, he was the best person in the world at angering my big brother.

For you see, the half-eaten apple had collided, and with more than a significant amount of force, with the back of Ron's head. I really don't know what was funnier; seeing Ron's head endure whip-lash at the impact, and then turn around and become nearly purple upon discovering just what it was that had hit him, or seeing Malfoy nearly doubled over in laughter.

Ron, being the incredibly intelligent big brother he is, spun around madly in search of just who the 'bloody hell' had thrown that apple. Harry, whom had simply stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, seemed to catch on a bit quicker than Ron, and muttered something to him under his breath. Ron's eyes snapped to Malfoy, his face plastered with rage. For a moment, he started to make his way towards him, most likely delusional, but Harry grabbed his shoulders and turned him around, sending a putrid look Draco's way. Draco waved at them. I snorted.

"Miss Weasley, did you have a question?" I jumped ever so slightly, losing my concentration and breaking my vision charm.

"No, sir."

Professor Binns nodded and cleared his throat before continuing his lecture. I stole one more look at the now blonde haired dot out the window before turning my dazed stare to the front of the room to ponder just how brilliant Draco Malfoy had looked eating an apple.

Don't ask why I was so anxious to get to dinner that day. All I know is that as soon as class was dismissed, I subconsciously ambled down the stairs towards the Great Hall. Really. It wasn't my intention to get there so quickly. People were filing in, and I joined the mass. My stomach growled a bit awkwardly, and I looked down at it sheepishly, sending my long red hair into my eyes. I brushed it over my shoulder.

"Really, you had to be there. It was the most hilarious thing I've ever seen in my life! Red hair flying everywhere! Have you seen the moron now? Apparently he refuses to see Madame Pomfrey, so he has this massive welt on the back of his head!" I whirled.

He was about ten feet behind me, give or take, flanked by a few other Slytherin 6th years. My abrupt movement must have caught his attention, for he caught my eye, still smiling slightly from recapping the events to his cronies. I neither smiled nor glared at him, but simply looked.

I suppose he must have found this a bit odd, considering our history. I couldn't really blame him. I found it odd myself.

He stood there for a moment. Maybe he was contemplating my presence. I don't know. I let loose a breath that I didn't know I had been holding, and his slate eyes sparkled. He raised his eyebrows at me, the same remnants of a smile playing on his face.

Okay, cut me some slack. What would you have done? If Ron was your brother, you would have found the situation humorous, as well. Trust me. Draco played no part in it whatsoever.

I nodded, and turned on my heel, entering the Great Hall.

Unless I was very much mistaken, it appeared that Mr. Malfoy and I had just shared a moment.

Truthfully, how weird WAS that huh! I don't know when the chapter will be up…but seeing as I have Spanish 4 every day (damn the school system), should be within a week. And of course, what the feedback is like will play a role .

Review, you guys! Please!

(ThisBurningHeart)


	2. Chapter 2

Hey you guys. Here's Chapter 2. I have no FREAKING idea how many chapters there are going to be. But I decided to bust this one out, just the same. And oh, sorry about the length. I tried to make this one 'beefier'.

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 2**

I never really did like carrots. They were much too orange, for my taste. I'm really glad my hair was red, and not orange, like those carrots. Did you know that if you eat enough of them they will turn your skin orange? It's true; the pigments found in carrots are the same ones that make leaves turn orange in the fall. Not like that matters. But you know, I really, _really_ started to despise carrots after I had to stare at them for a whole hour. Those god damned carrots were the only thing keeping my eyes from one of two things.

The first was my brother, Ronald. It's not that I minded looking at Ron. I mean yeah, he was a right bit funny looking at times, but he was my brother after all. I had to cut him a bit of slack in that department. But, you see, if I looked at Ron, I couldn't help but notice (nor could anyone else, for that matter), the unusually large bump protruding from the back of his head. I could pretty much guarantee without a fraction of a doubt that I would burst into laughter if I met his eye. The purple face of his still burned in my mind from only hours ago.

If anyone so much as gave Ron a second glance, he would promptly stand up from the table, and make a grand show of slamming his fork down onto its surface, all the while giving the unlucky onlooker a glare that would probably kill a sick cat. So you can imagine why I didn't exactly think it would be appropriate to start laughing hysterically at his predicament. Though, it was quite funny when he did that the last time. His fork had acted like a catapult, causing the contents of the gravy bowl to be launched at his knit sweater. That was the first reason to look at the carrots.

The second reason was a different kind of situation entirely. I'm not sure how it happened to work out this way, but as it was, Draco Malfoy was currently positioned directly in my line of vision at the Slytherin table. Now on any other day, I wouldn't have thought this to be so horrible. On the contrary, it could have been almost enjoyable. It was just that one moment that had made everything so…strange! Why did he have to look at me with those steel eyes of his and act like I wasn't plaguing his existence? He had acted almost normal around me, _happy _even. And that smile! Merlin, that smile! It didn't make me giddy, but god how I wanted to look up at him and smile back, which was entirely out of the question, as I mentioned before. I couldn't be on the list. No one could know. Ron was sitting across from me, and if I smiled at Draco Malfoy, Ron would know. The twit.

Proceeding the aforementioned event, Draco and I seemed to have an unspoken understanding. We simply ignored each other. Then, when forced to acknowledge one another's presence, we either glanced at each other uncomfortably, or started arguing feverishly, depending on how we felt that day. Usually, we didn't seek each other out, like he and Ron or Harry did. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the only times we really _did_ argue was when he had some of his _stupid_ gang members around him picking fights with me first, or when we got matched up against each other in Quidditch. You couldn't blame us for that one, though. I was competitive, and he was determined.

So there I sat, wondering idly if I should just stuff the disgusting carrots into my mouth and stalk out of the Great Hall. I didn't trust myself enough for that. I knew the instant I raised my head my eyes would betray me, and seek him out.

"Oie, Ron! Can I take your picture?" a cheery voice called from behind him, shaking me from my thoughts. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. Collin. I cursed inwardly. Though he had improved immensely since his first year, some things about a person never changed, and we all knew how Collin loved his camera. I brought a hand to my eyes, and shook my bowed head, waiting for the impending doom.

Harry grunted loudly and shook his head a smidgen, his eyes steadfast as he stared at Collin. Collin merely grinned at Harry. Ron fidgeted.

"I don't think so, nope," his tone was dark, and if I hadn't known him for the previous 15 years of my life, I would have almost been scared. Except for it was Ron, and all thoughts of scary Ron that had ever possibly resided in my head were replaced by memories of ickle Ronnie-kins running around the burrow wearing nothing but his white underwear and my pink socks.

"Aww come on, Ron! It'll be a great memoir!" Harry choked on his peas. Hermione dropped her spoon, a few seats down I think. Ron turned around, slowly, to face Collin.

"A memoir?"

"Yeah, you know, way to remember the good times!" Oh good god, Collin. The Great Hall had grown a bit too quiet for my liking.

"_G-good times_!" Ron sputtered, his voice rising. I knew it was coming soon. See, when Ron gets mad, he's actually quite predictable. First, he attempts to dismiss you with a usually pathetic remark. Upon failure of dismissal, he begins to redden in the face a bit, which wasn't saying much for Ron. Beyond that, his voice grows increasingly louder, the angrier he gets. I tried not to recall what the last stage was, for it usually resulted in either an incident of immense embarrassment for Ron, or violence. Sometimes both, if you _really_ knew how to push his buttons.

"Yes! You're a riot, Weasley! Lookit you! If I put your picture in the school paper, I just know that everyone would just _eat you up!_ No pun intended!" Oh _no_ Collin! No no no no! Harry began to actually choke on his peas this time, coughing violently. I reached across the table and clobbered him a good one on the back.

"And just what in your incredibly thick skull makes you think I want people ogling at a picture of ME? Do YOU think I look like a riot Harry? Anything unusual that would interest anyone in the slightest!" Ron bellowed. I could see his muscles tense beneath the gravy stained sweater.

Harry, who just moments earlier had finally freed his windpipe with the help of yours truly, was gasping for air. Evidently, Ron took one of the deeper, throatier wheezes as his reply.

"SEE! Harry doesn't think so! Now just take your little camera away from my completely normal face before I-"

(Click).

I don't know if it was the flash from the camera that made me sit there, completely still and speechless, or just sheer shock. I suppose it was a bit of both. The series of events that followed seemed to take place in slow motion.

In a period of about 20 seconds, 5 very significant things took place.

Ron grabbed two fist-fulls of Collin's collar, lurched around, and slammed him onto the table top.

2. He released one fist full of his shirt, taking hold of the arm still clutching the camera, and thwacked it against the table. The camera flew out of Collin's grip before his arm even hit the surface, and landed with a rather undamaging squish, on a tray of jello cubes.

3. Regrettably, Ron didn't take into account the fact that there was a rather large bowl of mashed potatoes under Collin's arm when he smashed it against the table, hereby repeating the events of earlier, and rocketing the gooey vegetable goodness straight up into my dear brother's freckled face.

4. All of that took about 8 seconds. The next 3 were completely silent. Then, as if in unison, nearly the whole Gryffindor table erupted into a fit of laughter. I still don't know if that was to my benefit or not. I tried my absolute hardest. Really, I did. I tried everything I knew of. I bit my tongue, closed my eyes, pretended to cough, the whole shootin' match. But even all of those things couldn't keep me from laughing, and I knew it was a losing battle.

5. I looked up, and in my moment of weakness, I broke the rules. I looked away from those bloody carrots, and there, with the most utterly ridiculous expression of both shock and absolute joy, was Draco Malfoy. He wasn't laughing, not yet. But then he did it. He smiled at me, quite intentionally this time. The most horrifying part of it was, I smiled back. The next thing I knew, we were both laughing.

Ron turned white. I don't know if he noticed me laughing or not, but apparently he didn't want to stick around to find out. He turned, storming towards the double doors at a furiously fast walk. It was then that the guilt began to wash over me. Chancing a final look at Malfoy, I swallowed as the corner of his infuriatingly scrumptious looking mouth turned upwards in a smile. He shook his head, and I felt my breath do that annoying catchy thing again.

Thankfully, a fellow Slytherin nudged him, and directed his attention elsewhere. I honestly don't know if I would have been able to move if he hadn't stopped looking at me.

I jumped up from the bench, and jogged after Ron, tripping over my robes in my haste.

"Ron!" I called, over the shouts of the delirious students. If he did hear me, he didn't pay any attention. He wiped angrily at his face, sending a handful of ruddy potatoes to the floor.

I followed him through the doors. He was headed towards the boys' washroom, but I was determined to head him off. I mean come on, my poor brother! He had just had one of the most utterly humiliating days in his life! I was required to do _something_.

"Ron you know full well you're going to have to face me sooner or later!"

"I don't think you want to see my face right now, Gin," he muttered miserably. I sighed.

"Don't be silly Ron, I'm not scared of potatoes."

"She's got a point, Weasley. I'm sure seeing that face of yours would brighten up anyone's day," a smooth drawl mused from no more than a foot behind me.

I thought I was going to have a stroke at age 15. My spine startled to prickle and I visibly shuddered.

Maybe it was because he was standing so close to me. Maybe it was because he had somehow appeared behind me unnoticed. Either way, I could almost feel Draco Malfoy's breath on my neck.

There's Chapter 2. Next chapter will be out in a week or less!

REVIEW PLEASE!


	3. Chapter 3

Back again, as promised. I'm really slightly depressed, you guys. It seems like people stopped reading my stories. I don't get any reviews anymore. I want to shout a big THANK YOU to everyone that HAS reviewed. This is for you guys; your feedback makes me want to continue!

And oh yes…bad news. Didn't get this chapter out in a timely fashion, but upon reading it, I'm sure you'll know why; it's nearly twice as long as the other chapters. I could have gotten it out sooner, but I wanted it to be good (even though it still isn't). This chapter probably isn't as funny as the last couple. I have to move the story along, so, my apologies. I could probably continue writing funny little chaps forever, but I want the story to MOVE, after all. But there're still a few giggles in here, I think…

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 3**

I guess technically I'm a pretty romantic person. I like to believe in true love. I think roses are gorgeous. I listen to a lot of light rock when I'm depressed. Poetry interests me a lot, and I'm a bit of a sucker for someone who knows how to sweet talk. Of course, that's not to say I'm not independent, because I am. But that's beside the point.

Anyway, all that romantic and lovey-dovey stuff is well and good, but it was getting me about as far as I could throw Crabbe or Goyle. Here I was, having spent the better part of my adolescence fantasizing about how wonderful romance is, and when it actually shows up in my life, what do I do? You'll see how this applies in a moment.

When my eyes smacked into a pair of slate orbs, things started to go a bit astray. In theory, I should have been angered, maybe even a bit defensive of my Ron. So I guess, yeah, it did look more than slightly ridiculous to see a Weasley and a Malfoy not fighting each other to the death.

But nothing looked as ridiculous as me slipping on a particularly runny mound of what had once been appetizing mashed potatoes. Combine the potatoes with the fact that the great hall stone was slippery from remnants of sloppy snow brought in from outdoors, _and_ that I was wearing flat soled shoes with horrendous traction, and bad things happen.

_Basically_, all I did was turn around. Or at least try to, anyway. My body wouldn't stop shaking, and my jerky movements made the motion quite abrupt and awkward. About halfway through the turn, my right foot suddenly shot outwards, and my left ankle rolled painfully. I panicked, and grabbed on to the first thing that touched my flailing hands. Unfortunately, the smooth black material of Malfoy's pants just happened to be that unlucky item.

My knees ended up smacking onto the stone notably less harder than they would have had I not grabbed them, but that knowledge didn't assuage the fear that was beginning to seep into me. The fabric I had in my iron clad grip was gathered around his knees, and they buckled slightly from the force pulling them forward.

So there I was, on my knees, eye level with Draco freaking Malfoy's belt, clutching his pant legs, and him with his knees bent.

The only thing that entered my mind at that moment escaped my mouth before I could stop it. And believe me, I _tried_ to stop it.

"Well this is awkward," I knew it sounded stupid before it even left my mouth.

"Never thought you'd be on your knees in front of a Malfoy, Weaslette. And I must say, this is a rather _unique_ way to show your appreciation."

"That was suggestive."

"And you fisting my pants isn't? It was a joke, Weasley."

I have sufficient evidence supporting the fact that any number of girls would have done the exact same thing, if not worse, when placed in my position. Err…._situation_.

I blushed. Despite popular belief, all redheads don't turn red in the face at every whim and folly thrown their way. Just look at Ronald, he was a prime example. He turned purple. Blushing was a big deal for me. The more I thought about it, I realized quite suddenly, that the only other time I had ever blushed in my life was when Harry had sauntered into the showers after a Quidditch match, having been under the impression that they were empty. They most certainly had not been empty, and let me tell you, discovering that one of your best friends is in the shower with you is not a pleasant experience, especially when your friend is, well, of the male sort.

Anyway, now do you see how all that romance shenanigans fits in? You'd have thought I would have been prepared for something like that. I attempted not to relate Draco Malfoy to those romantic thoughts. I figured it was probably best, especially since I was eye level with his lower region. God only knows what that half crazed romantic side of me would do if I let it take control.

"Right," I said, a small smile forming on my lips and thankfully replacing my pink cheeks, "sorry about that one, afraid I slipped on some of the remnants from Spudster's rage." I thought I saw him shrug, and even more oddly, I could _feel_ him smiling, if you could call it that.

"Even you wouldn't intentionally slip on potatoes for a chance to grab my legs. Don't apologize to me."

Was that some weird way of saying don't worry about it Ginny, no big deal? Was there anything about him that wasn't intriguing?

Afraid to move my head for fear of appearing to be 'enjoying the view', I shifted my left leg, and began to raise myself up. I cursed upon discovering that the roll it had endured had caused a bit more damage than anticipated.

"Oh you ruddy wanker!"

"Honestly Weasley, you are the strangest person I'v-"

"Not you, Malfoy, it's my ankle, I twisted it when I fell," I promptly released my grip on his pants and let myself fall the floor into an ungraceful slump. His knees recoiled, and he straightened up to his full height. I glanced down at my ankle, wondering idly if it was actually sprained or anything, and trying not to notice that Malfoy was over 6 feet tall.

"I tell you, between your brother's head and your ankle, it's a miracle you two aren't dead yet. Can you walk, or did I startle you enough to cause a serious problem?" he said incredulously, the Malfoy arrogance still playing in his tone. I huffed.

"It wasn't my fault the git left potatoes all over the floor, and you most certainly didn't-"

Have you ever choked on your words before? It's an indescribable sensation. My throat clenched, my eyes widened, and it was suddenly taking tremendous effort to breathe.

Draco Malfoy was now kneeling beside me, carefully examining my ankle as if it were the most completely normal thing in the entire world. My previous efforts to avoid looking at him directly were all but abolished, much to my displeasure, or, depending on how you looked at it, pleasure.

"Malfoy? What are you doing? I'm fine, walking will be a synch. I'm going to get up now."

"Which is why you just fell over for the second time when you tried to stand on it, I'm sure," he rolled his eyes, his tone annoyed, but I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Course, when it came to his mouth, I did have a right disgusting habit of being a bit imaginative.

I opened my mouth to say something in response, but clenched my jaw as he chose that moment to make eye contact, as if to accentuate his point. I groaned, but whether it was because I knew he was right or because he was simply looking at me was anyone's guess.

"Well it does hurt a bit, but only if I put weight on it." I didn't know if that was really a come back or not, but it worked. At least I thought it did initially.

He leaned back on the balls of his feet, and outstretched a hand. I blinked.

"Well are you going to sit here in pain all day, or take help when offered? After all, I _was_ the one that caused that in the first place, can't have you go whining to some teacher bout this, hmm?" he raised an eyebrow as the beginnings of a smirk worked its way on to his face. As attractive as that was, the fact that he had the audacity to imply that he had had that affect on me was both unnerving, and slightly chilling. The twit.

There was no way. I couldn't possibly do it. I, Ginny Weasley, would _not_ play into his hands like every other bloody idiotic sap that chased after his toned behind. Not that I had ever noticed his toned arse before. But once again, that is NOT the point.

This line of thinking was working out quite well for awhile, and upon reaching said conclusion, I began once again, to stand up, planning on meeting his eyes in victory as I succeeded.

So that's what I did. I locked my gaze with his, and pushed all my weight onto my right foot. It trembled violently under the strain. The joint gave out a little, and I was forced to give my other leg some of the burden, and I cringed.

That was when it happened. The smirk had long since disappeared, leaving his face blank as he watched me struggle. When I cringed, his perfect blankness faltered. It was all in his eyes. Normally when someone cringes their whole face screws up. But not Draco Malfoy. His pewter eyes narrowed, the muscles around them wincing, but only barely. I don't think anyone else would have even noticed, but I am a very observant person, as I mentioned before. Especially when it comes to…never mind.

Those eyes of his did strange things. And through them, I saw Draco Malfoy show compassion. I knew he wasn't just being arrogant. Well, not entirely anyway. So I gave in, alright? Trust me, you would have too.

"Maybe just to stand, I think I can limp my way to the Hospital Wing once I'm up," I offered. He nodded, raising an eyebrow, a small smile once again playing at one side of his mouth. I slid my hand into his, and he rose slightly.

"Grab hold of my arms, and tightly," he directed, presenting his other arm. Bossy little git, wasn't he? I complied, grasping both of him forearms, and he mine. "Right, now use me as support, I'm going to pull you up," he looked down at me, as if to ask if I understood. Oh, I understood alright.

Of course, much to my disapproval, the only thing that I was currently comprehending at the present time was that I was gripping Draco's very muscular forearms. Damn my imagination. It then occurred to me that I should show some sign of approval, and I nodded, a bit too enthusiastically in my opinion.

He began to lift me, and I easily used my fair leg to support my form. Timidly, I shifted to my other foot in simple experimentation, and immediately regretted it. I swallowed, and gripped his arms a bit tighter.

"Still think you can hobble to the Hospital Wing, Weaslette?" I chuckled sarcastically.

"Perhaps not. And err….than-"

"Ginny you can't walk? What's going on!" Oh not him. Really, I thought Ron had caused enough emotional and physical distress to last for the next five years. Apparently, he had stormed off to the bathroom after hearing Malfoy's earlier remark, and had washed off his face. Clumps of potato still covered his sweater.

"Nothing. I slipped on something, and my ankle rolled," I explained, conveniently leaving out the fact that it was the potatoes that I had slipped on. He had better take this calmly.

"You slipped? On what? Tell me the truth!" I sighed. It didn't appear his rationality had returned. Not that he had much to begin with, but in Ron's case, he needed all that he could get. If it had returned, he would have realized that that was probably the most unnecessary piece of information one could ever obtain.

"I don't know, the floor's slippery is all!"

"You're lying!" I rolled my eyes.

"Why would I lie about such a stupid thing? Besides, it's not even a big deal, it's under control."

"It doesn't look like it to me!"

"Ron, shut up! I'm fine, it's just a sprain! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head up to the Hospital Wing."

"You don't just sprain your ankle, Gin!"

"Ron, SHUT. UP." He glared at me, before his eyes flickered to Malfoy.

"And what are you still doing here?" he lashed.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Weasley? I'm assisting your sister to see Madame Pomfrey," Draco responded, his tone just adding fuel to the fire.

"And why would you do that?" Ron barked, his voice beginning to rise.

"Because she obviously can't walk, you idiot! Besides, it was my fault she fell in the first place. I startled her." I raised my eyebrows. That was quite the wrong thing to say. I had a feeling Draco was saying it more out of a desire to aggravate Ron than to validate his actions.

"YOU made her fall! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!" Ron bellowed.

"Ron, back off! He's telling the truth!" I snapped. I was starting to think that he deserved all the bad things that had happened to him today. I then realized what I had just admitted, and chanced a sidelong glance in Malfoy's direction. I couldn't read his face.

"NO WAY, GIN! HE CAN'T JUST GO AROUND THINKING HE CAN BE A ROYAL PRICK TO EVERYONE! HE'S A LYING, DIRTY, EVIL, CONIVING, ARROGANT ARSE!"

"Ron, you're talking nonsense!"

"OH AM I? IT'S NOT SO HARD TO BELIEVE, YOU PLAYING INTO HIS HANDS LIKE THE NAÏVE LIT-"

I don't know how I managed it to this day, but somehow, I launched myself at my brother with alarming force. I don't think I could feel my ankle. If I had, I wouldn't have been able to pull it off. My mind was completely and utterly consumed with loathing. How dare he call me naïve? He didn't know the half of what I had gone through in my lifetime! I swear, thinking Ginny Weasley is unintelligent must be a great pastime or something, because hell help me, I was sure sick of hearing it.

I ignored the little tiny voice inside my head that said part of the reason I ignited like a firecracker was because I was worried I _had_ played into Draco's hands.

The pair of us crashed to the floor, but not before I kneed him a hard one in the stomach. I got a few good punches off to his middle section, and clobbered him a good one across the cheek. His nose was bleeding, and I was just thinking about ripping his hair out when a pair of arms encircled me, wrenching my flailing body away from his.

I screamed, anger still cursing through me. I felt a lean chest against my back, and my breathing relaxed slightly, my brain coming to its senses. I recognized the firm arms from only a moment ago, and knew what had happened.

"Weasley! WEASLEY! Get a grip!" His voice hissed into my ear, low and calm. The pain my ankle had endured came crashing down, and I cried out, squeezing my eyes shut in pain.

"My…my…" I gasped, wishing desperately that words would form.

"I know. Just try to take slow deep breaths, I'm going to bring your sorry behind to the Hospital Wing," Draco shifted one of his arms to carry me bride style. Just as my lungs began to adjust to taking in oxygen, a thunderous bang sounded from the double doors. Oh god no, not more people. From here on out, things were a bit blurry.

"Ron, are you out her-RON!" This was not good. A series of shuffling noises followed the voice that I easily identified. "He's out cold!"

I could just picture his green eyes fluttering on the room before landing on Malfoy and I. And that is exactly what they did.

"Malfoy, Ginny? …What did you do to them Malfoy!" I felt the chest against me heave with a sigh. Leave it to Harry to jump to conclusions.

"_I_ did absolutely nothing but restrain this one here," he jostled me unceremoniously in his arms, "from beating the pulp out of that oaf of a brother of hers." I knew that would get Harry worked up. And it did. He was such a predictable one. Well, at least he never ceased to disappoint, I thought wryly.

"Then why is Ginny upset?"

"Because she hurt her ankle. Notice the swelling, Potter? Now if you'll excuse me, I do believe she needs to get some medical attention."

"Put her down."

"Potter don't be an idiot, put your wand away before you hurt yourself." I shuddered at his icy tone. He could be so dismissive when he wanted to be.

"No!" I knew Harry was being a good friend, and I would have normally felt flattered, but given the circumstances, you'll forgive me for cursing him into oblivion. I felt like waving a huge banner in front of their faces that read 'Hello! I am still here, boys!'

"What, are you worried we'll get 'lost' on the way up?" Draco shot, the self confidence ringing in his voice. I didn't even want to see Harry's expression after that one.

"No doubt you've done it before. I'm giving you 3 seconds."

"POTTER!"

"ACCIO GINNY!" I yelped, clutching desperately to the silky fabric of his shirt, before flying across the room and landing with a crack on the stone floor. Now, I'm no expert, but I was pretty sure that was the part where my ankle broke.

I gasped, looking up at Harry through teary eyes. He sputtered inaudibly, face stark white.

"You _see_, you imbecile! You just broke her ankle you incompetent fool! Get out of here before you cause any more damage!" Malfoy sneered, eyes blazing as he swept past him.

"Don't touch her! You're the one that started this in the first place, being such a prat to Ron!" Harry shouted. Tears fell openly down my cheeks now, and I was beginning to feel light headed.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Potter," Malfoy turned from me to face Harry, voice menacing, "I said _leave._"

"I heard you. Now either you get out of here, or I'll make you." Poor Harry, I honestly think he was just trying to make it up to me, then, but he didn't understand; he wasn't helping.

"Big words, Boy Wonder."

"STUP-"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

I had never seen someone draw a wand that fast before. In one fast fluid motion, Harry was sent rocketing against the far stone wall, silenced. My stomach wobbled a little at the sight.

Draco turned to me, a snarl still covering his features. I swallowed, and he cast his eyes downward. I don't think he wanted to meet my gaze. There were a few moments of silence, in which we both remained still.

"What is going on here!" a stern and enraged voice shrieked, breaking us from the reverie. I looked up into the face of Professor McGonagall helplessly. She turned to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy! I sincerely hope that you have some justification for your actions!"

I could visibly see Draco's face harden into the mask he used to regard the world.

"Only the obvious. But need I state that Potter is a complete moron?" I felt my stomach clench again at his cold words, but I ignored the painful twinge in my chest. Her wrinkled eyes snapped with fury.

"And how do you validate your actions?" Draco shrugged.

"I don't. It's not my fault Weasley opened his big mouth, and it wasn't my fault _she_," his eyes fluttered to me for only a moment, "went after him either. When Potter barged in and accused _me_ of starting all of it, I was only defending myself."

So bold faced as that was, I had to give him credit. The intense glare and slightly entrancing tone of voice could go a long way. Of course, maybe that was only my opinion…

I was not ready for McGonagall to turn to me, expecting some sort of retort. So I didn't give one. I couldn't. I could barely breathe, my ankle hurt so badly.

"Is this true Miss Weasley?" I managed a nod.

"I should have hoped that I would not need to remind students in their 5th and 6th year that violence of any kind is prohibited. Mr. Malfoy, you're lucky I'm not reporting you to your Head of House, and Miss Weasley," she continued on, making her tone grim, "I must say that I am most displeased, and that I think I speak for us all when I say we've all seen more than our fair share of the Weasley temper. Detention for both of you, tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps being forced to be civil to each other will make some imprint in your brains." She gave Malfoy and I both meaningful looks before turning to leave, Draco returning it before he turned on his own heel and began to walk away.

"And oh, Professor? You might want to get Weasley to the Hospital Wing," he added, as in an afterthought, calling over his shoulder. I silently rejoiced. God only knows when someone would have come and found me.

As I was assisted to the Hospital Wing, I couldn't help but wonder if spending a Saturday afternoon with Malfoy was a good thing or a bad thing.

END CHAPTER 3

Alright, so now you know why I don't like this chapter. Just know that the next will be much better, and that I love you all. Sorry for the delay, it WONT HAPPEN AGAIN! Reviews are fantastic, and see ya next week!

Thank you SOOO much to:

Ameera-undomar, Nyah1, WhiteBunny2005, THE VAMPIRE IN THE SHADOWS, purus.flere, Apathetically interested, miraclesomajic, dragonsrgorgeous07, and blondenbonkers! You guys are phenomenal.


	4. Chapter 4

What's going on, team? I'm praying you aren't losing interest because I'm taking so long to update. I should have realized it'd be awhile with this crazy busy time of year. Hope everyone enjoyed the Hols, mine was pretty great, I got the digital camera I had been hoping for, among other things. Seeing family was nice enough, and my dear sweetheart even visited me! I was thrilled! (grins stupidly) That's right, this is my first chapter of fanfiction as a TAKEN lady! (laughs evily).

Anyways, after realizing that I was so incredibly behind, I decided to put out this HALF CHAPTER. I can only hope that by doing this, I won't feel as overwhelmed and whatnot. Chapter 4.5 should be twice as long, and out shortly. Not like you really care, or anything, lol. I'm sure you want to rip my head off. Here's what you REALLY came for. Sortof.

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 4**

I've always really loved snow. I don't know why everyone else doesn't. I mean, really, most of them are adults too. I figure it must be sort of a muggle thing especially, to hate snow, because they have to operate those cars and whatnot. But really, most wizards that I know of don't like snow either. It's like it is always deemed messy and unnecessary. It was like one of those bad things that you automatically acquire with age; a distaste for snow.

I don't see how all these people could possibly hate something so beautiful. There's nothing as pretty as a heavy snowfall. The ground looks like one big soft marshmallow that you can bounce on, and all the trees are dusted with flakes, making them look crystalline. When you walk outside, falling snow gets in your hair and you feel like you're part of the scenery. Everything just seems so pure and tranquil. It's like nature's magic.

So you can imagine how utterly thrilled I was when it started snowing as I waited in the Hospital Wing that evening. Madame Pomfrey was up to her neck with students that had caught some form of the flu that had been going around the castle, and apparently the remedy was in short supply, so many of the students had to simply rest in beds with wash clothes on their foreheads and throat lozenges in their mouths. To say the least, the wing smelled like regurgitated cough syrup.

I was positioned on one of the end beds, waiting calmly for my ankle to show some sign of improvement. As I watched the snow fall from behind the frosted glass window, my mind began to wander in rather obscure, random directions. I found myself contemplating the fact that as distasteful as the Hospital Wing was, it offered a lovely view of the back grounds of Hogwarts, and that if I had a sufficient amount of time, a superb sled run could easily be made on the gentle slopes. I kept replaying the words Ron had screamed at me about playing into Malfoy's hands over and over. And most randomly of all, I found myself horridly aware of just how comforting those hands had been. I sincerely hoped that all of that was due to an overdose of the medication Madame Pomfrey had administered to me, especially that last bit.

I left the Hospital Wing the next morning feeling exuberant and free. I never really had an issue with entertaining myself, but after spending 12 hours with only my pointless (and lately rather disturbing) thoughts as a form of companionship, even I started to feel a little loopy.

Approximately 2 minutes after leaving the wing, I was closing in on the Great Hall in anticipation of some breakfast. Not overly caring if I sat near anyone on this particular morning due to the large amount of looks I was receiving for yesterday's events, I sat down on the bench with a fair amount of difficulty. Apparently my coordination wasn't yet cooperating.

Not being much of a breakfast person to begin with, I opted for a bowl of cereal, and quickly began ingesting large spoonfuls. I used the solitary breakfast to wonder just what exactly McGonagall was going to inflict on me. She wasn't usually one for originality when it came to punishments. I should know. I had heard more than my fair share of stories from the unusually large amount of predecessors before me. This, of course, was not including Percy.

With that in mind, I really wasn't all that worried about the labor. If anything, who I was serving detention with was the problem, and that all depended on how you looked at the situation. Pun intended.

Simply put, the more I thought about it, the more I managed to convince myself that today really wouldn't be too overly horrible. I'd serve a couple of hours of detention, and be on my merry way outside to frolic in the freshly fallen snow. Perhaps frolic wasn't really the best word…but who knows? With my current state of mind, maybe I _would _frolic.

Finishing my cereal, I let the spoon fall into the bowl with a clank. I glanced at the old wrist watch with the worn leather strap that I always wore on my wrist. I don't know why I was so attached to the thing, but I loved it to death. Even if the strap did look like it only had a few more weeks of life in it at best, as Ron always insisted. The twit.

Perfect. It was 10 AM. I would be outside in those glorious flakes after lunch. Now if only my not so lovely partner would be as optimistic about getting an early start.

END CHAPTER 4

4 1/2Will be out soon! I swear to god! Again, my most sincere apologies. Please review, even if you are pissed as hell…


	5. Chapter 5

You guys! Hi! I tried to get this out as soon as possible, because I knew you all were going to be quite upset with me for the split chapter, to say the least. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. lol! In any case, these past 3 weeks have been insane, and I can only write bits and pieces at a time until I adjust to the new semester. As disgusted as I am, now that I'm settled in the new goal is weekly or biweekly!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 4 ½**

_Some five minutes later…_

I rapped on McGonagall's heavy oak door before pushing it open and stepping inside. The office was silent and slightly cold. It seemed to lose its sense of cheer without the groggy, yet still reassuring buzz of students. McGonagall was positioned behind her oversized desk, writing with a long gold and red feathered quill. If you asked me, that was going a little overboard with the House pride thing, but I wasn't up for pointing that out to her and landing myself another detention.

"Miss Weasley, I must say, I hardly expected you to show up so promptly." I hated when she did that; made snide comments that implied that one could never expect anything from Ginny Weasley. I could handle insults about my impoverished family, slams about my red hair, or stupid pranks that Malfoy and his friends may throw my way at various embarrassing stages of my life, but something about statements like that one made me furious. She might as well have just told me that I was a waste of oxygen, I mean really.

Despite my previously cautious nature, my mouth automatically opened to defend my pride. It does that quite often. Not one of my most...diplomatic habits, but one of the hardest to break.

"What can I say, Professor? I guess I just couldn't wait to spend time with Malfoy." The sarcasm was nearly impossible to miss, as I had intended, and I quickly plastered the lopsided grin I had picked up from Harry onto my face to cover my tracks. Sure enough, her eyes snapped up from her writing like lightening, scanning my face for proof that I had meant that in an insincere manner at best. I didn't falter, and she gave up, narrowed eyes jetting to behind me.

My anger depleted at the knowledge that I still had my wit. Satan knows what I'd do if I lost that. It was probably my favorite thing about myself.

After a moment of self satisfaction, (Hey, cut me some slack! Those are harder and harder to come by as you get older, you know?) I realized that staring _behind_ someone isn't really normal. As soon as that thought entered my head, it was like my senses became hyper aware of everything going on around me. You know the feeling you get when someone is staring at you, or how you can at least sense another's presence?

Multiply that feeling by 594,302,457,439 and you'd be about halfway to the intensity that came smashing down on me. My spine nearly arched on its own accord, and I had to physically restrain myself from giving in. Taking a breath in attempt to steady myself and using the few seconds to wonder what the hell my problem was, I jerked around, anxious to rid myself of the feeling and partly cognizant of the sloshing in my stomach hinting as to what was going on. Whoever said ignorance is bliss had never felt like this, let me tell you.

I should have known it was _him_. I mean, quite honestly, what else could have possibly elicited that reaction from me? Still, it was rather weird that my body recognized he was in the room before my mind did. As usual, I didn't dwell on _why_ that was. It wasn't something I was accustomed to, especially around him.

His white blonde hair fell forward to touch one arched eyebrow, and his lips were twisted into half of that infuriating smirk he always wore. I couldn't quite tell what it was supposed to mean, seeing as he used the expression to represent nearly every bloody emotion (with the exception of anger, in which case it was replaced with a snarl) he ever felt. His eyes however, were fixed on me, unwavering.

The grin I had been wearing vanished under his gaze, and to my utter horror, I was no longer able to suppress the strange sensations running up and down my spine. The energy was released in a violent shudder. I swallowed, slightly repulsed by my lack of self control. So much for that satisfactory moment I had enjoyed only seconds earlier, yeah?

I braced myself for an uncomfortable comment, and rightly so.

"Well then Miss Weasley, it appears you've gotten your wish," McGonagall quipped, her facial expression showing either evident amusement or annoyance. With McGonagall, you never could tell. I glanced in her direction, glad to have at least some reason to tear my gaze from Malfoy, even if it was to stare into her daunting face. I bit my lip. Hell, I almost drew blood I was clamped on to the thing so hard. But alas, my mouth opened itself again.

"Somewhat…" I breathed. My tone wasn't sarcastic this time, but soft and almost a bit bitter. For a moment I wondered if it had even been audible. McGonagall didn't seem to notice, as she immediately made to move her paperwork into a magically sealed drawer in her desk, and I didn't dare have the nerve or stupidity to look at Draco.

Strangely enough, I don't even know why that slipped out of my mouth in the first place. Somewhat; what kind of response was that? I squashed that thought quite hurriedly, fearful of that ridiculously pathetic romantic portion of my brain that seemed to fight for control at random points in time. Even more strange was my horribly sad attempt to insert the word random in that sentence. I didn't even fool myself with that one, and when that happens, you _know _everyone else won't buy it either. Random my arse. I knew exactly when my control wavered, and I didn't like it one bit.

After thanking life in general for the inability of others to hear my thoughts, I released a small puff of air, the tension in my chest easing only just.

Feeling more nutters than I had in my entire life, I stared with alarming fortitude at the cherry wood of McGonagall's desk. I half expected it to crack or something; Satan knows I was concentrating hard enough.

"I suppose we might as well get right to it then, hmm?" Her voice suddenly mused. She looked on at us, or more accurately, me in particular, apparently awaiting an answer. I closed my eyes for a moment to refrain from rolling them. As if we had a choice in the matter.

"Precisely," his voice added behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him step forward, positioning himself a bit closer as he spoke. McGonagall nodded curtly.

"I'll have you two know," she began, signaling the classic start of one of her usual rounds of chastisement, "that after this day I will show absolutely no amount of leniency whatsoever for any foolish and utterly juvenile outbursts that may occur, and any such instances will result in my immediate consultation with the Headmaster. Am I quite clear?" She raised her eyebrows, in that critical manner of hers.

There was a general mumbling of 'yes ma'am', and 'of course professor', before she continued.

"I'm sure you are cognizant of the snowfall as of last night?" she paused momentarily, probably for effect, but it felt a bit more like salt in the wound to me. I don't think she could have dangled it more blatantly in front of my face if she tried.

"Of course…" I replied, albeit a tad morosely. Thinking about what I _wanted _to be doing during detention wasn't exactly the best method of making the time progress faster. I snuck a glimpse at Malfoy. No, that was definitely not a good thing to think about, especially during _this_ detention.

"Well, it appears that several of the residents and business folk at Hogsmeade have acquired a problem, in relation. Many of them are snowed in, and unfortunately the streets are a disaster, nearly not navigable. If we want the students to be able to proceed with the next visit, they will most certainly have to be cleared."

I perked up at this, and if I wasn't mistaken, heard a soft grunt from my cohort. That wasn't too unbelievable. I mean, honestly, can you imagine Malfoy liking snow? I grinned stupidly at the thought of little Malfoy getting pelted in the face with a snowball.

"What are we going to be doing then, Professor?" I asked, growing tired of her procrastination.

"You and Mr. Malfoy will be removing the snow from the premises. That is to say, 'shoveling', I believe muggles call it?"

"Shovel-hing? What in blazes is that?" Draco demanded, voice rising and lip curling. I openly turned to face him, taking in his furrowed brow and generally confused body language. All of 4 seconds passed before an expression of absolute glee immediately took residence on my face upon two realizations.

The first was that not only would I be outside for the next several hours, but I would quite literally be tromping through the very snowflakes I had been eyeing, essentially escaping the boredoms of standardized detention. The second, and perhaps the more amusing in the sense that it was a complete guilty pleasure, was the thought of Draco participating in any form of manual labor. The cherry on top of this inexplicably sweet sundae was that this activity was completely and totally muggle related.

My joy growing too immense to control, I decided to interject some helpful advice into the conversation in order to enlighten he whose hair glows in the dark.

"Not shovel-hing, Malfoy, _shoveling_. I take it you've never seen a shovel, then?"

"No, I haven't, though I _know_ you have," he shot back. I knew Malfoy well enough to know that he would have added more to that remark had a teacher not been present. Instead of growing angry at his implication, I smiled slightly.

"Absolutely. I grew up normal, you see. You know, played in the snow, that whole bit." A throat was cleared not so discreetly.

"Regardless of whether or not you are familiar with concept, you will both be shoveling," McGonagall cut in, her mouth drawn in a firm line. She rose from her seat, and moved around to the front of the desk, drawing her wand.

"These, Mr. Malfoy," she flicked her wand and two old spindly chairs began transfiguring, "are shovels." Two metallic scoops appeared at the end of the now smooth wooden handles.

"We…we're scooping the snow off then?" Draco swallowed, and I got the distinct impression that he was refraining from making a disgusting comment about physical labor. Well, it was either that or he was coming precariously close to passing out.

"That is the general idea. As I mentioned before, nearly the entire village is blanketed. Work your way there via the path, and then proceed to administer as much service to the residents as possible," McGonagall prompted. I glanced to Malfoy again. He was stone like.

Never being one to let an awkward moment pass, I decided to lend the guy a hand. It was only fair. He _had_ helped me yesterday, even if it had been a fluke.

"Looks like we'll get to it then, Professor," I said happily, grabbing one of the shovels hovering in front of me. "I'm going to run up and grab some warmer clothes and the like. Malfoy, meet you in the entry way?" I raised my eyebrows at him and saluted McGonagall before slinging the shovel over my shoulder and striding out the door.

I whistled jovially as I strutted down the hallway. I don't really believe in luck, but there wasn't really any other word I could think of to describe the situation. Sure it wasn't like I was going sledding, but sledding didn't come with a tall blonde attached, did it?

END 4.5 : What'd you think? I apologize profusely for the horrid long wait. I'd appreciate reviews, and hope to post again in a week or two!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Salutations, all. This chapter may or may not contain as much physical humor as the past ones. Additionally, **in my haste to get this out to you, I DID NOT EDIT THIS CHAPTER AS THOROUGHLY AS I SHOULD HAVE**! You have been warned. After not having enough time because of freaking AP European History, I decided I was fed up with trying to write a huge chapter, and was inspired by Blond, James Blond to just submit another smaller one (Thank you!). So, sorry, but this is how chapter size is going to stay for awhile.

On with the story, and don't forget to **REVIEW** after reading the chapter, please!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 5**

Upon reaching my dorm, I took my time in opening my large trunk and fishing around for the necessary items. I was currently wearing a wide leg trouser and sweater, and thought it best to layer up to avoid becoming soaked to the bone. No doubt with Malfoy at my side the job would take twice as long as it normally would. I slipped a pair of long johns on under my clothing, and grabbed a scarf, hat, mittens, and my cloak. The mittens and hat were fine, but the cloak had seen better days. The fabric was a little thin, but I didn't care. Okay, there were a _few _holes in it, but I found it comforting. It used to be Charlie's, and when I was little he'd wrap me up in it when I got cold and say something like, "Weasley men don't get cold, Gin. Comes along with the red hair, see." Utter nonsense, but it was still one of my favorite memories of him.

I glanced out the window as I finished up. Snow was still falling lazily from the sky, adding more to the workload that lay ahead of me. Surprisingly, not as many students were outdoors as I had anticipated. Come to mention it, there were hardly any students at all outside in the glorious winter air. Damn it all, not even Hagrid was outside clobbering about! Snapping my trunk shut with a resolute clank, I exited the dormitory whilst shaking my head in disgust at the pathetically lethargic beings I was forced to call peers. For the umpteenth time I contemplated why in the name of Merlin they hated the snow in the first place, and began to feel significantly less enthusiastic about the future of mankind, especially upon seeing a large number of them (aforementioned good for nothing twits) gathered in the common room. My spirits brightened however, at the notion of bringing at least one of the miserable pests outside with me in order to partake in one of life's finer indulgences.

At this point, a sort of half crooked smiled attached itself quite dumbly to my face. I wasn't going to let them drag me down. No way. Ginny Weasley was getting what she wanted today. Being under the scrutiny of half of Hogwarts wouldn't exactly be the best way to spend detention anyhow. No, being alone was most definitely the friendlier option, no pun intended. And by alone I meant with the snow of course.

So as I marched through the student infested common room, I was only aware of two things. The first was that many of them (students) seemed to have taken an interest in my shovel, and were eyeing it with increasingly uncomforting glances. The second, and more prominent thing that was lolling around in my brain, was a disturbing replay of Draco and the apple scenario from the day before, except for the apple was replaced by a snowball, and it wa-

**Clank.**

"What the…and just what in blue blazes do you think you are doing!" I rocketed out of my day dream with alarming speed, and whirled just in time to see a rather annoying looking second year smack the underside of my shovel for the second time with the back of his fist. He seemed rather taken aback at my outburst, and scurried away into the hole he crawled out of. I glared after him a moment before continuing my walk to the portrait hole, this time carrying the shovel with two hands in front of me, hopefully increasing the overall intimidation level of the item and keeping away any curious bystanders. I smiled a bit on the inside. Who's to say Ginny Weasley isn't resourceful?

Finally reaching the portrait hole, I climbed through successfully and returned the shovel to its comfortable place on my shoulder. On an act of ridiculous spontaneity, I started to whistle, and quite horrifically I might add, as I maneuvered towards the main hallway. I never could whistle properly, but with the shovel slung over my shoulder in such a fashion I really couldn't resist trying. I was also using it as means of forgetting about why I had screeched at that second year in such an unkindly manner. Normally I wouldn't be inclined to do such a thing, and guilt started to prickle inside my chest at the recollection. I wasn't Malfoy, after all. My brow furrowed at that thought. I might not be Malfoy, but he was still plaguing my thoughts a lot more frequently than not, and I realized quite quickly that that was why I had been so jumpy towards that little mate back in the tower. Hell, you try masking the fact that you think one of the biggest gits in the school is attractive and see what it does for your mental state.

I decided that continuously trying to make sense of the whole situation really was a waste of time. It wasn't like someone was going to be able to mysteriously read my thoughts. My whistling depleted in energy as I recalled Harry's previous study of Occlumency. Right then. So it was possible. But come on, let's be realistic people. What are the chances of someone feeling the overwhelming urge to read _my _thoughts? I'd have to say slim to none. And even if there is some deranged lunatic out there who wants to do so right now, what are the chances that they'd uncover _that_ particular piece of information if they did read my mind? Er….well, given the fact that it had been floating around in my head for awhile…maybe it wouldn't be so hard to uncover. That wasn't a good way of looking at it. Perhaps I didn't want to know the answer to that one.

I stopped momentarily, my head going in too many directions to permit even the most basic of my bodily functions to operate properly. My hand automatically brushed back my long bangs, and my eyes closed as I shook my head. I chuckled softly to myself. Ever have a moment where you feel like an immensely big idiot? This was one of those moments for me. I decided to stick to my earlier conclusion that went something along the lines of "despite the fact that it would be _quite_ uncomfortable if anyone ever found out about it, my 'fondness' for Mr. Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly going to disappear, and therefore, I should waste none of my further energies on trying to rid myself of it." No, the only way I could possibly imagine the… (Oh

alright, I'll say it! It makes me sound like a skank, though.) _lust_ going away is if Malfoy just happened to wake up one morning as…oh, I don't know, a female.

Smiling at my newfound state of peace and the hilarity of that image, I continued down the hall. I was just about to round the corner when a pair of voices I knew far too well reverberated from down the stone corridor.

"What do you mean you think something's wrong with her?"

I froze. It didn't take a genius to figure out who they were talking about. Glancing quickly from side to side, I ducked into a nearby window alcove, pressing my face against the stone in order to hear them better.

"Well I don't know how to put it, really. It's just that sometimes I get the feeling that she's really different than everyone else. She doesn't think the same way as we do."

"Thank goodness for that," I muttered to myself, rolling my eyes. Leave it to my brother to put something so eloquently.

"Come to think of it, she doesn't really seem to like the fact that we're in the Order at times."

"Yeah, maybe. Just seems like she doesn't understand how dangerous people are. She thinks that she can trust everyone."

"Never was a good sense of character," the softer voice said, and murmur of agreement followed.

"Right on that. I mean lookit the blokes she's fancied, and to think all those year-"

Too stunned to comprehend much, I tuned the last part out, swallowing a little out of disbelief. How was I supposed to take that? I didn't know whether to be offended or hurt.

"Yeah, well, even _she_ can't possibly misjudge Malfoy, right?"

"Let's hope."

Their voices faded away as they moved farther down the hallway. A deep uneven breath worked its way into my lungs as I mulled over the charming conversation I had just overheard. It seemed that Ron had not only held on to his anger concerning yesterday, but he had voiced his opinions to Harry. This really shouldn't have surprised me in the slightest; I mean for God's sakes, Ron told Harry when his bloody shoelaces came untied. The thing that did surprise me was that not only did they think I had a horrible sense of character, but Harry had (or at least appeared to, from what I had gathered) agreed that there was some great danger in getting involved with Draco Malfoy's character. Brothers could be so _stupid._

Rolling my eyes to signify waving the subject off, I came to the staircase leading to the entryway. A flash of silver caught my attention, and I looked up to see an unmistakably distinct figure, even in an excessive amount of winter clothing, pacing in front of the front door.

I had never really considered the phrase "turn that frown upside down" to be realistic, but at that moment nothing could have described me better. For as I began to descend the stairs towards him, nothing seemed more appealing than seeing Draco Malfoy in a wool hat and by the looks of it, 3 layers of cloaks.

I half heartedly tried to stifle a laugh at his idiocy. You'd think we were going in to the tundra by the looks of him. He appeared to notice my presence at the laugh, and stopped his incessant pacing to look at me like _I _was the ridiculous one.

I stepped off the last stair, biting the corner of my mouth to prevent the smile on my face from getting_ too_ big. A little kick in the pants to his ego couldn't hurt after all, but smiling like a clown-faced idiot would no doubt ruin its effectiveness. I nodded in acknowledgement.

"What, may I ask, is so amusing?" he seethed. I shrugged.

"Just wondering when the Ice Age decided to make another appearance."

"Gee Weasley, I didn't know your sense of observation was _that_ bad. I saw you look out the window earlier. I figured a girl as sharp as you would have noticed the 2 plus feet and growing mound of snow on the ground." My eyes followed the curves of his arched eyebrow and lips before I realized he was serious. What a wimp.

"I can handle a little snow, and for your sake you better be able to do the same," I pointed at him with my shovel threateningly.

"Fine. Don't complain when you start to freeze to death."

"I'm not going to," I answered, ignoring his scoff, "now let's get a move on. Those flakes are just waiting to be stepped in." I gestured to the door, and watched bemusedly as he retrieved his shovel from its resting place against the wall, carrying it with one hand.

We each grabbed a handle on the heavy doors, and I noticed that he was wearing thick leather gloves, no doubt expensive ones at that. Maybe I did need warmer clothing. I wiggled my fingers reassuringly, brushing them against the soft fluff of yarn. Eh, I was more of a mitten person anyhow. The doors swung open, and we stepped outside in unison.

Immediately an icy sharp wind cut viciously through my cloak, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Draco flip up his collar. A shiver racked my body, and it instinctively jerked in his direction, desperate for the warmth of human contact. Between the cold and the way the snowflakes were clinging to his eyelashes, the man was downright magnetic. Barely managing to stop short before he noticed anything, I cursed silently. It was going to be a long day, and I could only hope that I would have enough restraint in me to last its entirety.

**END CHAPTER 5**

Thank you so much to all of my reviewers. You guys are great. Sorry if you're upset about the length, but after trying to find the time to make this longer and finding none in 2 weeks, I realized that this was how it was going to stay. Hope you aren't upset.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Well, I don't know what I expected, taking so long to update and everything the past two times. It seems that a majority of you have lost interest. In a pathetic attempt to make it up to all of you, here is another chapter significantly sooner than the last couple of posts. I am currently on Spring Break, and I'm using the time to write my ass off.

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 6 **

I'm just going to come clean and say that I had wondered what it would be like. Spending time with him, I mean. I was innocently curious, and perhaps mildly intrigued. I even had several scenarios pop into my head prior to the actual event, but none of them were even remotely close to the reality.

I guess I don't know what I had been expecting. Complete silence? A conversation of sorts like we had had the day before? Insults? Or perhaps even another moment like the one before dinner?

Basically the only thing that I _had_ been expecting and that _was_ confirmed was that we would be encountering snow, and a lot of it. But then again, even that simplistic conception had proved somewhat erroneous, for after a quick scan of the white landscape I concluded that I had never seen, or shoveled for that matter, so much snow in my entire life. I was willing to wager the majority of my possessions that Draco was thinking the same thing, only five times worse. Hell, his whole family had probably never seen _half_ of this much snow…. combined!

We both stood on the stone – or what would have otherwise been the area of the front stone pathway, had there not been 3 feet of snow on the ground­ – for several elongated moments. I turned to look at him, curious as to whether or not my logic was any kind of true.

The usual hard, arrogant facade was not present on his face at all, instead replaced with a unique lack of enthusiasm and awe, both of which looked so alien to him. He slowly turned to look at me, and I noticed that one of his eyebrows was arched high in disbelief. I chuckled to myself. How right I was.

"So I suppose you've never seen this much snow either, hmm?" I inquired. I felt a sly smile creep its way onto my face, and his eyes flashed as he realized the implication I was making. That wasn't something you saw every day, let me tell you, and if I sat here and tried to convince you that I didn't enjoy making it happen, didn't enjoy making that passion flare across his features, well, you'd come to realize quite quickly that I was being less than straightforward. Alright, I'd be lying. _Blatantly_ lying.

"I thought you'd already determined that," he mocked, and by his tone I could tell he was half serious. Despite the fact that he was obviously a right bit agitated by my jabs to his ego, I felt the grin widen as he took the bait. I tried to restrain the smile, but whether or not it was effective I will never know, for I was far too distracted by the way his rather attractive wool cap was making his hair fall into his eyes. I was quite sure that that hat wouldn't look nearly as good if it wasn't on his head.

"Oh I have, I just wanted to rub it in." I raised my eyebrows once, watching his features carefully, awaiting the fire that I found so enthralling. Merlin I was in trouble. I had used the word _passion_ to describe Draco Malfoy.

Do you ever have one of those self-degrading trains of thought that involve you looking in on yourself from a third person perspective, which leads you to conclude that you would rather not do so, because you are so hopelessly and utterly disgusted with yourself? Well, perhaps that's not something that happens to normal people, but me, being the slightly non-conformist that I am, often pictured what something might look like from outside of my own two eyes. I found it exceptionally helpful in judging other peoples reactions, and even occasionally found that it assisted in helping me to comprehend how others based opinions different from my own.

Anyhow, the scene I was currently 'seeing' involved me staring at Draco Malfoy like an idiot, scanning over his features irregularly. I knew that was exactly what I looked like, but admitting it was another thing altogether, you see. Hey, I'm sure if you knew you were looking at a boy with an expression similar to a gaping carp on your face, you would go into a mild state of denial as well.

My staring theory was verified when I saw it. His lips twitched. It was extremely subtle, yes, but it happened. As with the encounters from the day before, I doubted anyone else would have noticed.

Then again, my eyes _were_ practically glued to his sodding face. It wasn't like I could have missed it, even if I currently _was_ a bit foggy upstairs. That really, is not the point. The point is that I made Draco Malfoy smile. Almost.

"Doesn't matter if I've seen this much snow or not, does it Weaslette? The question an intelligent person would be asking is whether or not I can shove-hull it," he hoisted the shovel up in his grip, looking quite pleased with himself for producing what he considered to be a sufficient comeback. Regrettably for Draco, however, all elements of cleverness and wit were effectively smashed by his complete massacre of the word shovel. Evidently the boy had a problem with pronunciation, as I had already corrected him on it once before. I hated when people did that. So when my brain started telling me that it sounded cute coming from him, I opened my mouth to drown out the thought.

"I suppose you have a point. Though, it seems just as logical that an intelligent person would know how to pronounce word shovel, don't you think?" I feigned an innocent look.

"The hell if I care how you say it. I just want to get out of here before we're buried alive," he shot, tipping his head skyward as if he could see the one responsible for the tiny falling crystals in its depths. His eyes seemed to relax, and I swear they almost drifted closed beneath the heavy flakes. _That_ was a Kodak moment, let me tell you. Bloody hell, that photographic memory I've been wanting would have come in _really_ handy right about now.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and I could see that he was quite serious.

"You really think so? I mean, it's bound to stop soon, right? I mean look at all of this. How much could possibly be left?" I for one, having been in the Hospital Wing the previous night, had heard nothing about the severity of the snowfall save for what McGonagall had told us.

Draco shrugged, seemingly shaking off the tranquil moment from before.

"I dunno. I just think that we've spent the past 5 minutes having rather pointless conversation, and that if we don't get started we certainly will be out here all day," he spoke fluidly, his words flowing together and rolling off of his tongue perfectly. I like his voice, that's for sure. He looked to me as if waiting for me to speak, not even flinching at the fact that his words were a bit harsh. So I spoke.

"Where do you suppose we start?" I asked, putting up my strong front.

"If we need to clear a way to the village, we're going to have to clear the main courtyard and then just follow the roads in," he gestured in the direction of where the grounds met the road to Hogsmeade, and followed it with his finger until it was pointed in the general direction of the village. I nodded.

"Right then. Well there's no way we can possibly clear the whole area, here. I gather we'll have to sortov carve a wide path through the drifts instead," I responded. Clearing the entire courtyard was just not feasible.

"_Obviously_ not," he rolled his eyes before continuing. "Just cut clear across to the courtyard and make sure the path is wide enough for 3-4 people." I don't know if it was the severity of his tone or just the thought that I had misjudged Draco's character that made those words hurt so much. But I do know the following:

I, Ginny Weasley, do not hate many things in life. There are things that annoy me, things that disgust me, and things that just downright piss me off; but I can honestly say only a select few are worthy of my hatred. One of those things was when people made it seem like your opinion and thoughts had no matter or influence whatsoever. That was exactly what had just happened, and it had cut.

So when that last bit flowed out of his perfectly shaped mouth, I couldn't help my temper from flaring. I grabbed my shovel and huffed past him, making sure that the metal edge clanked against his boot.

After I had walked the 3 feet to where the snow mound began, I decided that this was in fact the snows fault, for it was _it _that got me stuck in this ludicrous detention in the first place, and did the only logical thing given the situation; I attacked with a vengeance. The shovel sliced through the thick snow easily, and I angrily heaved it to the side, enjoying the scrape the metal made against the stone underneath. I think I would have continued like that for the majority of the day had Draco not done something very unexpected.

After slowly sauntering the 4 steps toward me, he cleared his throat as if trying to get me to look at him. I refused to do so, resisting the urge to send the next shovelful into his face. I heard _his_ shovel scrape against the stone.

"So, how _do _you pronounce the name for these things," he asked, tossing a load in the opposite direction. I stopped mid scoop, and looked up with a small smile on my face. Though he wasn't making eye contact, something inside of me understood what he had meant by that, and I was touched.

"Shove-ull," I explained, making sure to annunciate every syllable. I finished lifting my current snow mound.

"Shove-hull," Draco repeated, doing likewise. I sighed.

"No, no, no. You're adding an extra 'H', you see. Shove-ull."

"Ahh, is _that_ it? Right. Shove-ull," he drew out the word, and up until that point, I didn't think the word 'shovel' could ever sound sexy. I was proven wrong.

"Right," I replied, swallowing a little. I saw him smile. We still weren't looking at each other, but it was obvious this time; one corner of his mouth turning upwards as his silver eyes grinned from beneath his hair.

"Right," he answered softly, the smile still present. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

That last statement was something to ponder, and I couldn't stop myself from wondering if it had a deeper meaning, _or_ hoping that it did.

**END CHAPTER 6**

There it is. I hope to God that people read this and give me feedback. I feel like I've let you all down. PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed this, hated it, or just even READ it. I will be eternally grateful.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: THANKS to all who are reading and reviewing, and I'd like to give out a special thanks for being so supportive of not only the story, but me in general!

OH! And if anyone that reads this is the anonymous reviewer "TAMI" (or knows who that may be), whom reviewed several chapters ago, please contact me! I would love to bounce ideas off of you (them) concerning a continuation or spin off of "What They Never Knew"!

Once again, I wanted to get this out, so **it's not as edited as it should be!**

Finally, I apologize if it appears that I am slamming the male sex in general in the chapter. It's all in good fun, gents! Haha!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 7**

"So what you're saying is that you actually _enjoy_ shoveling?"

"No, what I'm saying is that I don't _mind_ shoveling. I used to help my brothers do it all the time when I was little."

"I'm _so _sorry…" he drawled, emphasizing his words in that Malfoy-like manner that was so distinct. The conversation had been going on like this for awhile. After finally teaching Draco how to pronounce the word shovel, I made the mistake of commenting about how we could have gotten stuck doing something a lot worse for our detention. _Naturally_ that had progressed into a conversation about how I obviously actually really enjoyed shoveling, and how wrong that was. I know, I know; he's ridiculous. Cut him some slack, people. He _is_ a man. That thought was the only thing that kept me from beating the tar out of him with my shovel. That and the fact that I didn't want to bloody his pearly skin.

"Oh, come off it. The only thing you know about my brothers is that they have red hair and the same last name as me," I said, trying my best to sound exasperated in hopes of discouraging him. Draco was anything but, instead tossing his current load aside in order to use the shovel to support his body weight. I followed his lengthy form down to his toes, and my own foot twitched at the enticing opportunity to make him fall flat on his face. Just one kick to that shovel and that glorious poise of his would be shattered.

"On the contrary; I know that King Weasel is not only incredibly incompetent at jinxing, but he's fiercely loyal to Pothead and Granger. Even has the hots for that one."

I looked at him curiously.

"And no, despite the popular theory that commonly circulates throughout my House, I'm not referring to Potter," Draco smirked, and this time I knew without a doubt that it was the arrogant sort. The twit. Before I knew what I was doing, I had opened my mouth to retort.

"Well—" I cut my sentence off abruptly as I actually took in what he had said about Ron. I decided to perform a quick evaluation. Ron _was_ right horrid at jinxing; I should know, having tried to teach him on numerous occasions. It was kind of embarrassing, you see, for him to be so incompetent. He was indeed also fiercely loyal to Harry and Hermione. As for the last bit, anyone who knew anything about Ron beyond his name could see he had it bad for the latter.

"You know, I think that right there is one of the main reasons you don't get along with people," I commented thoughtfully.

"What the devil are you talking about?" He questioned, probing eyes narrowing as he remained propped up against his shovel.

"You just have this way of making ordinary things sound…insulting, when they're not really. They're the truth," I finished, making sure to meet his confused partial glare in order to drive my point home. I saw his eyes soften in understanding, and something else sparked in them.

"Sometimes insults _are_ the truth. And even more often, the truth is insulting," he spoke slowly, and I got the distinct impression he knew he had proven a valid point. I had to give him credit. At least he did _that_ in a subtle manner. So Draco Malfoy knew how to have an intellectual debate, did he? Moreover, he knew how to have one without making it personal. That caught me off guard. I hadn't been expecting him to say something deep, and I felt my mind become clouded as intrigue got the best of me. Hearing him say intelligent things like that made me think that I was right in believing there was more than pride beneath those silver locks, and lord knows that wasn't helping my self control. A sexy man I could handle. A sexy _intelligent_ man; well, that was another story.

"I agree. It just seems that sometimes you disregard peoples' feelings when being that way," I answered, just then realizing that I too had abandoned shoveling.

"What are you saying? That I'm honest to a fault? If that's what you mean, I'm going to nip this in the bud and tell you straightaway that I don't believe there is such a thing. Honesty is honesty." He looked mildly interested when he realized I had more to say on the matter.

"Yes but you have to differentiate between the moments when you're trying to use the truth as an insult and when you're just telling someone something they may not like to hear. It makes people think you're being rude when I don't think you are trying to be."

"How would you know how these," he paused as if to consider what he was about to say,"_people_ think?"

"Because I'm well acquainted with 3 of them. Not to mention I've technically known you for years, and have observed it happen many a time."

"Don't kid yourself, Weasley. The only thing you know about me is that you're supposed to hate me because my father hates your father, and the feeling is mutual. That doesn't mean you know anything about my character."

I was grateful that my cheeks were no doubt already pink from the cold, for a blush tinged them as I realized just how weird it was that I _did_ know things about him. If only he knew…

"I know more about you than that, and as a side note, just because I'm _supposed_ to hate you doesn't mean I do. People are _supposed_ to do a lot of things. Doesn't mean they do them." And then, as if an afterthought, "I don't hate a lot of things."

"Oh please," he sneered, lips curling, "you don't know a damned thing about me." I was a little hurt by that. God knows why, but I was. It was then that my idiotic subconscious decided that the best thing to do was to prove him wrong. Apparently it had taken control of my mouth, for in classic Ginny Weasley style, it opened before I was even aware I was contemplating saying anything.

"Apples." Oh, hell.

"Wuzzat?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow. He looked either alarmed or shocked, and I severely hoped that it was the second one.

"You like apples." Oh, **_shit_**.

"No I don't!" he exclaimed defiantly.

"You eat one every day after 2nd hour classes." Oh, for the love of — why not just tattoo the word stalker to your forehead Ginny? It'd be a lot easier! He looked at me a moment, his lips barely parted as if meant to say something. After awhile he seemed to realize that he had no way out, and swallowed, eyes relaxing.

"How the _bloody hell_ do you know that I eat an apple everyday after second hour classes?" he demanded, his tone one of disbelief instead of the disgust and downright horror I had been dreading. I could of sworn I saw a shadow of the arrogant grin begin to take over his features, but decided that I was most likely delusional, as I had already lost my sense of control.

Still, this was the question I had been afraid of, as he had effectively turned the tables in his favor. I strongly considered cursing aloud this time, but decided against it as that would no doubt worsen my position. A stalker who talks to oneself is bordering precariously close to downright psychotic, and I doubt Draco would think me any less creepy if he thought I was such.

He was beginning to grow impatient, as he had raised his eyebrows in a quizzical manner and was staring at me persistently. I gathered up every ounce of resourcefulness and wit I had, but still could only come up with something that I knew wouldn't even fool Ron on his daftest day.

"Because I see you eat one everyday."

Hey, you weren't the one melting underneath his stare, were you? It messes with your mind, I tell you. I'd like to see you go through that and come up with something that even resembled English, let alone topped mine. Hell, I was lucky _that_ came out.

Draco laughed, shaking his head as he picked up his shovel to resume working.

"As if that answers the question. Fine, I'll play your game. _Why_ do you see me every day after 2nd hour classes, Weasley? And hey, get back to work. We're almost to the end of the courtyard. Can't have you slacking off," he grinned. I stood there for a second, during which I felt incredibly manipulated, before numbly obeying. Not like I had much of a choice, was it? He was good, and I needed to get him back for that one. If my brain hadn't kicked at that moment, I would have been done for.

"I guess I'm just observant," I said to his back, silently rejoicing at the fact that it sounded even remotely nonchalant. He continued lofting large shovelfuls to the side as he worked ahead of me. I let out a sigh as we reached the last few feet of the courtyard before the much more manageable road to Hogsmeade.

"I've noticed that," he called over his shoulder. Was he mocking me? It didn't sound like it. Perhaps he was implying that _he_ was observant. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant in regards to _me_. I rolled my eyes. Right, and maybe he also found me alarming attractive and incredibly intriguing.

Just then, an idea for revenge on account of his prat-like earlier comment popped into my head. Quite frankly, I couldn't believe that I hadn't thought of it sooner. It was genius. It was simplistic. It was _perfect_.

"You know what I've noticed, Malfoy?" I asked loudly, scooping a small mound of harmless snowy fluff.

"Hmm?" came the muffled reply. I smiled rather demonically. He took the hint and turned around the face me. Call me cheap for striking when the enemy is off-guard, but I like to think of it as strategic. I sprang into action, launching the snowy goodness right over Draco's lovely head. It rained down on him in slow motion, and I could see him close his eyes calmly right before the whiteness completely obstructed my view of his features.

"That calling me a slacker tends to have nasty consequences."

Normally after pulling something like that, I would have been feeling pretty damned confident. For some reason, however, I couldn't quite shake the discerning feeling that I was about to be hit back ten fold. Something about that calm confident smile of his told me I should run for my life.

**END CHP 7**

Was that a cliffhanger? My god, that would be a first! I'd just like to let you all know that tonight is my last night of Spring Break, and that after this I probably won't get to post for another 1-2 weeks. Review please!


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow. 2 big fat months later, here it is. **Life is crazy sometimes. I'm so happy to have this finished, but I am quite worried, you guys. This doesn't seem anything at all like previous chapters, and I'm afraid I'm losing my touch. Please review and tell me what you think of it, will you? Thanks so much, and I'm terribly sorry for the wait. With summer here, I have much more free time!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 8**

I have never really used the word regret in my life. That is probably because, as you may have assumed, I don't regret many things that I've done. There was the occasional instance— such as eating the chocolate Ron got from Hermione last Valentine's Day, primarily because it made me a bit queasy— but at no specific point in my 16-year-old existence did I ever really remember thinking, 'Gee, I really regret _that_ one,' or 'Nice going, moron; that's going to come back to kick you in the arse.'

All of that changed the instant his pewter eyes burned through the curtain of snow to meet my own. I think the best thing to compare them to would be the calm before a storm. His eyes reminded me of a swirling gray sky, ominous and indicative of a ferocious passion ready to erupt from its containments at any moment.

Regardless of how idiotic I knew it sounded, my rather poetic and more than a little disgusting train of thought would have continued forever had I allowed it the freedom to do so. You see, one of my more embarrassing— and certainly _the_ most unrealistic and simply _stupid_—habits was to create this false and completely imaginative sense that my interests (not to say that Draco was an _interest_) could be described as beautiful individuals capable of floating through life with a certain grace and elegance. It really was amazing how fast my mind came up with things like that. I guess you could call it a gift, albeit not a very useful one. I suppose it meant I had the option of growing up to be a starving poetic artist if I felt the need.

Put simply, I had a tendency to raise them up on pedestals. That was somewhat ironic in this case, seeing as Draco most likely already thought himself to be worthy of such a thing. That was actually _very_ ironic, considering the being that I had just made out to sound like a god currently looked like he was going to eat me alive. Some beautiful person he was, eh? Yes, ironic was definitely the word for it.

I didn't _really_ regret the situation, however, until he started to take dreadfully slow, metered, and downright painful steps toward me. A lazy, lopsided grin screamed trouble, and he shook his head back and forth in what I could tell was a very deliberate manner, as if to say 'Tsk tsk, you fool. What were you thinking? Now you're in for it.'

Quite honestly, I didn't know what to do. Part of me, probably the more logical—if you could call it that—portion of my mind, was telling me to sprint as fast as my legs could carry me, in the opposite direction. How logical this was I didn't know, seeing as I couldn't imagine sprinting through 3 feet of snow to be very effective. The other side of my mind—

I didn't know or want to know what this portion was called—was thinking that being 'caught' may not be as bad as it sounded. Sure, he could very well be planning on wringing my neck, but the notion that I'd be close enough to smell him kept overshadowing any logic that even tried to make an appearance in my head. Heck, I wouldn't mind if he _did _wring my neck; he'd have to touch me to do it, after all.

It's okay. You can say it. I'm a freak. Cut me some slack, okay? I'm a woman. Hence, I over-analyze things; it's how the world works.

In any case, that last thought made me feel quite perverted, not to mention morbid. I felt like the heroine of some slasher film. With my last bit of willpower I managed to mentally turn off the switch that allowed such freedom of thought. God knows I didn't need any of _that _rolling around in there. I decided to act on pure instinct; I always did like living in the moment. It was somehow liberating to free my mind of the heavy task of planning ahead.

There was only the soft whistling of the wind, and the ominous crunch of Draco's boots against the snow. I took a step backwards.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" He asked in a sickeningly sweet voice, cocking his head to the side as if to mock me. His eyes gave him away; gray fire still burned in the depths of their orbs. There wasn't an innocent thing about them. I didn't reply. Not like I could have if I'd wanted to. I was fine as long as those eyes weren't intense and smoldering, but in situations like this, I was completely incapacitated.

"No comeback? How uncharacteristic of you. You always have something to say," he continued, his voice low and subdued.

It was that comment that started it. I don't know if it was the fact that he seemed to know something about me, or because his voice was probably _the _most attractive thing I'd ever heard. It very well may have been those two things combined. Regardless, it had the same effect as running a smoldering jet of water down my back: my spine started to tingle, my breathing grew uneven, and my muscles ached. I knew from that point on, that I could not let him come within reach of me. If my restraint was wavering this much when he was 10 feet away, having him within my grasp would prove to be disastrous. I cursed under my breath as I remembered worrying about this exact issue the moment I stepped out into the chilled air with him. My earlier fears had been justified.

I took another step back, taking immense care to avoid letting my gaze linger on his wretched eyes. He met my step with two more of his own, putting him less than 6 paces in front of me. I felt my hands grow clammy despite cold. Oh not good, _not good._

"Draco, _don't_," I heard myself say. I could feel the timbre of my voice tremble, and hoped to the merciful gods, if there were any left, that it sounded steadfast, or at least normal.

"Don't?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked slightly amused. I was annoyed by this; how unfair that I be so affected and he was his completely normal, smug self! "Don't _what_, exactly?" His words seemed more comfortable than genuinely confused to my ears. A terrible thought then crossed my mind: What if he knew? Was he aware of what he was doing to me? My throat closed up at the possibility. I watched in horror as he slowly took another step.

"Draco…." I managed out, noting the rapidly decreasing space between us. It sounded more like a plea than a threat this time. I started to back away steadily now, only partly aware that I was shaking my head.

"Yes, Ginny?" My stomach clenched as he said my name. Was he _trying _to make me lose my mind? His impatient eyes waited under heavy lashes. I wanted to punch him.

I opened my mouth with the full intention of saying something, but that didn't go exactly as planned. Think gaping fish, instead. Draco didn't appear satisfied with my….answer.

"You can give it, but can't take it, is that it? What a fine example of duplicity. Tell me, why is it that you can get me but I can't get you? Just how does that validate itself as 'fair' in your mind?" His voice started to rise, though he remained calm, and I realized that this was how he got when he showed emotion.

I swallowed and answered with as few words as possible.

"You're cheating." He raised an eyebrow, now looking slightly agitated. I closed my eyes in hopes that it would allow me to focus all of my energy on stilling my weak knees. _Please_ don't let him see that…

"Care to elaborate?" I could only shake my head, as I was now positive that my voice was failing.

"No? I don't believe in being honest to a fault, remember?"

"Neither of us will benefit from you understanding this, Draco, trust me." He laughed cynically.

"Trust you?" his voice was softer, and my eyes opened on their own accord at his change in tone, curious as to his facial expression, desperate to gain an understanding.

Nothing in this world could have possibly prepared me for what met my eyes. In those few moments when they had been closed, the idiotic boy had nearly eliminated the distance between us, leaving a gap of a mere 10 inches. That may seem like a lot, but to a girl whose mind is as sick and twisted as mine, it is nothing. In a millisecond my imagination was coming up with various ways to close that distance. In the millisecond following, shock took over, and I jolted backwards, losing my balance in my instant of surprise.

I gasped, stumbling backwards in haste as I began to tip towards the snow. I was almost praying that I would hit my head and lose consciousness. That way I wouldn't have to explain my freakish behavior, at the very least. Unfortunately for me, however, Draco quickly grasped my shoulders, planting my feet quite solidly on the ground, and by doing so, ultimately destroyed any hopes of that happening. If only that was _all_ he had destroyed….

I physically felt my resolve shatter at the contact. My body went crazy. My throat all but closed, I clenched my hands into tight fists to prevent them from doing anything ridiculous, and a series of spasms racked through my shoulders. Knowing I couldn't delay it any longer, I reluctantly looked up at him, trying terribly hard to mask the horror on my face. There was no way he couldn't understand now.

I rejoiced slightly at the prospect that he wasn't completely repulsed. He looked at me seriously, his brow furrowed, as if deep in thought. His eyes flicked to his hands, still clamped tightly to my trembling shoulders, before they returned to my own. I swallowed, realizing he was wondering what to make of my quivering frame. With any luck, the conclusion he had reached wasn't utter repulsion at the notion that I thought he was….er….pleasant looking. My stomach twisted as I realized that wasn't the only thing I now found pleasant about him, as I had recently discovered a sharp wit and intellect curtained behind the smirk I found so bloody fascinating.

Quite unexpectedly his eyes narrowed to something just short of a glare, as a hollow looking expression washed over his face.

"…Are you afraid of me?" he sounded incredulous, almost disappointed, and I could have sworn I noticed a bit of anger or resentment lurking in his words. My shaking stilled at his words. He hadn't figured it out.

"No," I responded, alarmed but satisfied at how firm my tone suddenly sounded. A few moments passed before his glare softened, and he nodded curtly before releasing my shoulders and turning on his heel.

I felt my breathing return to normal as I watched him pick up his shovel in his right hand and continue walking, the other stuffed soundly in his pocket. The murkiness impairing my judgment slowly dissipated as Draco reverted back to his normal self, intrigue taking its place. I was grateful, to say the least, for the lessened tension. That had been a _very _close call. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why he had felt the need to ask me that.

Taking one last deep breath to restore my confidence, I snatched up my shovel and hurried in the same direction, falling into step beside him.

"Should I be?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow playfully. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and chuckled, shaking his head. He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I tried not to note the immense satisfaction I took from making him laugh.

"Probably," he answered gravely, half serious, "I'm not the warm and fuzzy type." It was my turn to laugh. He looked at me curiously, the grin still playing at his lips.

"What?" I asked innocently, "You make me laugh!" Draco shook his head again, eyes looking forward through the bleary white flakes.

"Well I'll be damned."

"What's so weird about that?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"You're different than a lot of people, is all."

"How's that?"

"I dunno. I haven't figured it out yet."

"Fair enough. Though, I should warn you, I don't think I'm the only one that would have laughed at that last bit. In fact," I continued, raising a finger in the air, "_you_ curled up with a warm and fuzzy stuffed bear would make great material for stand up comedy."

"Sod off."

"Oh come on, it'd be brilliant. I can see it now, you curled up in a nice fluffy blanket your mum sent you in fron—"

I was abruptly cut off, as an arm shot out and pushed me sideways into a nearby snow drift. I glared at his back as he continued walking.

"Sorry about that one, Weasley. Muscle spasm, you see. Of course, what am I talking about? You and I both know how easy it is for you to trip all over the place. You probably slipped on something," he called smugly over his shoulder. That was hitting below the belt. How dare he bring up my mishap in the entrance hall!

I waited for him to turn his head before childishly making a face at his retreating form. I honestly didn't care how ridiculous it looked, for it made me feel much better. I then made a grand show of dusting myself off and marching after him with as much dignity as I could muster, pride still intact.

"You're no fun, you know that?" I informed him, glancing sideways in his direction.

"Rubbish, I found that positively enjoyable," he smirked, still looking straight ahead.

"It's all about you, isn't it, Draco?"

"It's not my fault I'm all you think about."

I know he was joking. I know he didn't mean a single thing by it. I even know he didn't intentionally do it. Regardless, it was still pretty bloody frightening to hear him say something so close to the truth, especially after what had just happened a few minutes ago.

I lost my grip on my shovel in my surprise, and it fell from its position on my shoulder, the metal edge thudding against the back of my calf before clattering to the freshly cleared stone. Oddly enough, it was the same leg that had been injured the day before. The poor bugger sure was taking a beating lately. It wasn't that big of a deal; if it hurt, I was far too paranoid to notice.

Draco stopped, and looked backwards at me curiously, eyes darting from my face, to my shovel, to my leg in turn.

"Are you alright?" he asked, preparing to take a step toward me. I nodded hastily, picking up my shovel once more.

"Yeah, the thing's a bit slippery, is all." He raised his eyebrows. I mentally slapped myself for using such a feeble excuse. After a moment, however, he seemed to accept it.

"Right. Well come on, then. We've got a road to clear and a village in need."

I nodded, barely able to make out the snowy rooftops of Hogsmeade in the distance.

**END CHAPTER 8**

Well, there you go. I hope it seemed longer, or sufficient at least.


	10. Chapter 10

**Surprise, everyone. **This chapter is positively _huge_. I just couldn't stop writing; there was no good place to quit! I hope you enjoy it.

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 9**

Why are men so bloody complicated? Honestly, you think you have them figured out, then the next thing you know, they're joking around when you want to be serious, getting angry at something you think is comedic genius, making assumptions that are utterly ridiculous, and on top of it all, looking completely amazing during the entire process, so whilst all of their other less than alluring qualities are completely infuriating, there's still that _one _little detail that draws us to them.

Now, I'm nowhere near an expert in philosophy or creationism. I can't stand the stuff. I can't help but wonder, however, what in the name of all that is holy were they—It? She? He?— thinking when they made the male brain so eccentric? And just who in their right mind came up with this 'opposites attract' business? It's completely mental, I tell you! Wouldn't it be a bit more rational to assume that two _similar _minds would be more compatible rather than two that went about the thinking process in completely different manners? I'd like to meet the bloke that came up with the theory. _Someone_ needs to inform him—and I'm sure it _was _a 'him' that came up with it—that there needs to be basis to a statement like that.

That tangent was a result of my frustration concerning Draco's earlier behavior. The more I thought about it, the more unnerved I was about the whole matter altogether. I wasn't afraid of his character, I was intrigued by it; the fact that he thought I was frightened of him had me absolutely befuddled. I guess I _was_ somewhat afraid, but only of the thoughts he provoked in my head. I was afraid I'd grab him around the waist some time and refuse to let go, for example. And to think that is one of the milder thoughts he created.

I shook my head in aggravation as I lofted a light pile of flakes to the side of road. After the shovel incident, Draco had initiated the start of our work on the road leading to Hogsmeade. The trees had sheltered the path from a portion of the snowfall making it significantly less grueling than the task of clearing the courtyard, but dusty foot-deep drifts were still blown askew over the brown cobblestone. I was using the work time, obviously, to get lost in my thoughts, as I usually do when faced with mindless tasks.

I looked up to watch his form as he progressed down the pathway. A good 15 to 20 feet in front of me on the left, his back formed a gentle arc and his hunched shoulders rotated slightly with every lift of his shovel. I watched in disgust as he worked: never breaking pace, always taking slow steps so that he never had to stop walking. All in all he made the whole process seem a lot more graceful than it should ever naturally appear. I glanced at the sloppy right side of the road that I was responsible for and almost laughed.

My calves—specifically the one that was being beaten to tar lately—ached as I took a step forward to resume working. Pausing to roll my ankle to alleviate some of the tension, I glanced up to see Draco, arms crossed at the elbows as he propped himself on his shovel, looking at me with an expression somewhere between confusion and curiosity on his face.

"Is there a specific reason you can't keep up Weasley, or are you just slow in general?" he called, crossing his legs at the ankles. I replaced my sore appendage on the ground and threw a determined mound of snow off of the road.

"This is your fault, you know. My being slow and all," I responded.

"Oh _really_?" he asked, raising a seemingly intrigued eyebrow, a small smile parting his perf—er, lips. I nodded, smiling sympathetically.

"And just how do you figure that any of this nonsense is _my _fault?"

"My leg is sort of aching right now, causing my shoveling to be slow. The ache, I imagine, is the result of a severely traumatized ankle, which I acquired from slipping on a mound of potatoes that my dull-witted brother slopped all over the entrance hall. However, the only reason Ron had potatoes on him in the first place was because Collin, among countless others, was badgering him about getting his picture taken. Now if you'll recall, it was you, Draco, who threw the apple that caused the allegedly entertaining lump on Ron's head in the first place. I wouldn't have a somewhat cramped calf right now if you hadn't thrown that apple. You see the nasty chain of events you created?"

A moment passed. Draco blinked.

"That's the most roundabout, indirect thing I've ever heard," he concluded.

"It isn't either," I objected, bowing my head as I strained to mask the small smile on my face.

"What would you call it then?"

"Karma." He scoffed. I could feel another intellectual standstill in the works.

"Ah, yes. I created my own demise, hmm? Can't say that I believe in that nonsense," Draco drawled bitterly. I shrugged.

"Neither do I," I stated simply.

"Then you said that why, exactly?" he demanded, frustration and curiosity barely detectable in his voice. Either that or my imagination was getting carried away again. I took a breath, hoping to achieve the same tranquil attitude that he managed during these conversations.

"To an extent, I think that the way you live your life will determine how people perceive you and affect how you are treated. I don't believe in Karma, per se, but I guess you could say what goes around comes around," I responded, tossing another light load to the side. He lounged against his shovel, unchanged, waiting for me to catch up.

"Predestination? Fate? Destiny?" He was no longer smiling, his features serious and attentive.

"I don't believe in predestination. I think we have to earn our place in the afterlife. Destiny and fate? Maybe. I don't like the idea that there are some things that are unchangeable, but I do think that some things are meant to happen to us in order to teach us something." I paused for a moment, realizing he wasn't arguing with me like he had earlier. "What about you?" He waited a moment before speaking.

"I've been taught to believe in it. My father has a very clear idea of what he wants my life to be like. I wasn't even born when he decided he wanted his son…" he trailed off, shaking his head as he looked to the ground. "He's not one to leave much room for choice," he finished, still not meeting my eyes.

Shoveling forgotten, I stood motionlessly, not quite believing what I was hearing. I was taken aback by how calm I was. Had I known earlier that Draco Malfoy was going to open up to me, I probably would have had an aneurism. Now that he was doing so, however, I found myself much more concerned with _what _he was saying rather than _why _he was saying it. Somehow the subject felt bigger than my mild obsession, and believe me, that is saying something. I paused to think about what I wanted to say, a feat that I was quite proud of, before responding.

"I can't imagine that going over too well," I commented carefully, not wanting to break off the conversation by appearing too curious. I saw his facial expression tense, and maybe I was imagining it, but I could've sworn I saw his trademark sneer flash across his face for but a moment.

"Yes, well, that's my father," he said, as if that alone resolved the issue entirely. Until that point I didn't think my opinion of Lucius Malfoy could sink any lower. After all, not much comes to mind that is worse than the bane of all humanity. With that one statement, I was introduced to what kinds of hell existed in Draco's world, all of them there because of Lucius's doing. I wanted to reach out to him, to ask him the innumerable questions plaguing my conscience about his father and his life, but that would be crossing the line, and with Draco Malfoy I didn't quite yet know if I should even be close to it, let alone bounding over it like an eager puppy dog. By no means was I going to give up, though. I was much more confident in my sense of character than Ron and Harry's, and I was becoming more and more intrigued with every sentence.

He lifted his head to finally meet my now wavering expression, and when he did so I couldn't help but offer a sympathetic look as I saw the mask smother the real Draco underneath its surface. I should have known he wouldn't take kind to such empathy, especially from someone he wasn't even supposed to trust. He narrowed his eyes in an almost painful manner. I tried to silence his voice in my head telling me to stop wasting my time for trying to understand him, no doubt the very echo of what he was thinking at the exact moment.

"Bloody hell, Weasley, do I have to do everything? I thought you were the professional snow-shoveler, here," Draco smirked, picking up his shovel and moving to my side of the path. I blanched, but recovered quickly, at his digression.

"For someone who's never seen snow before you really are becoming quite adept at this, you know." Jesus Christ, the boy was lucky I was quick witted; I wondered if Ron would ever be able to hold a conversation of such a nature.

"For someone who looks like they don't know how to spell my name your wit makes you an acceptable conversationalist," he shot backwards as he made short work of the remaining 10 feet on my side of the path. I had to laugh—which I carefully disguised, less he'd think I'd gone mental—at his use of the word 'acceptable'. With Draco that was the best I was going to get.

"That and I speak my mind," I mused. I walked—shuffled really—behind him, clearing up any stray snow he missed. "We're nearly there, aren't we?"

"It's hard to tell with the snow, but it feels like we've been on this path for a good half-mile. I expect it's right around the next corner," Draco offered, jerking his head vaguely to the right.

"Splendid. Well, as long as _one_ of us knows where we're going. I can't even make out where the ruddy corner is." I felt no shame in admitting that I had next to no navigational skills.

"That, Weasley, is because you are a woman. You lack the internal compass that men posses, therefore giving us a much better sense of direction than you could ever hope to obtain," Malfoy explained, throwing me a pathetic look. I shrugged.

"Agreed. I suppose it's a good thing I fancy taking walks then, seeing as I'm no doubt going to spend much of my time lost. I also suppose, that since I am a woman, it's very fortunate that I'm much more observant than any man, so when I do become lost, I can pick out landmarks to get my bearings back. Much like that fallen tree I just noticed that tells me Hogsmeade is indeed right around the corner." I felt a surge of pride at that last part. It's nice to know that I'm a resourceful person. Sure, when I was little I got lost in Ron's magically enhanced walk-in closet due to a lack of navigational skill, but my resourcefulness more than makes up for the lack of directionality. Besides, it was a very messy closet, anyway. Could've happened to anyone, Captain Built-in-Compass included.

"See? You're not completely useless after all," he answered a bit too sarcastically to be considered sincere. I decided to let that one slip, as I had much more pressing things on my mind, such as the prospect of sipping a butterbeer once we made it to the village. My cloak was becoming damp and my aching legs were begging for a respite from the labor. Rosmerta would owe us anyway. I shuffled past him as he pushed aside the last load on the pathway before the bend, deliberately ignoring the fact that our coats brushed against each other.

Just as I was beginning to fantasize about the sweet liquid's no doubt glorious affect on my damp form, my dreams were squashed. Come to think of it, smothered would be a much better word. Or even better yet, buried! You get the idea. In any case, any chance of acquiring a butterbeer in the near future was completely destroyed as I rounded the corner to find all of Hogsmeade lost underneath thick, waist-deep snow. And it was still. Coming. Down. The little valley the village rested in created a sort of swimming pool if you will, with all the houses floating about helplessly in its midst.

I heard the soft click of Draco's boots on the stone as he emerged from the forest behind me. I remained frozen, not believing the sight before me eyes. That didn't prevent me from hearing the almost inaudible gasp that escaped his lungs as he discovered our predicament. I pushed that to the back of my mind. I had much more serious things to worry about at the moment, such as avoiding being turned into a rather unattractive, red-headed snow person.

"How…" I breathed, lifting a mitten-wrapped hand in the direction of the almost invisible dwellings. I saw him shake his head out of the corner of my eye. Evidently I wasn't the only one who was completely shocked. That was somewhat comforting; at least we were both on the same page, here. Even if it was absolute horror, it was nice to know we were in the same boat.

"I have no idea…" I heard him whisper.

"Do you think the trees….?" I wondered aloud, looking backwards at the path we had just cleared in the overhang.

"Perhaps they prevented much of the snow from falling there," he finished for me, nodding slightly. I shivered as a gust of wind cut into my back. "We were in there for a good hour. I expect another foot must have fallen when we were in the woods." A terrible thought then occurred to me.

"Oh, shit."

"What now?" he cringed, almost whining. Had the circumstances been different, I was quite sure I would have seized the opportunity to make fun of him. As it was, I stared off blankly into the swirling white haze as I contemplated our doom.

"I just realized how completely ruined we are, that's all."

"How do you mean?" He turned to look at me. I resisted the urge to start crying like a sad, pathetic, whimpering, mess of a girl on his very sturdy looking shoulder.

"If another foot of snow fell here while we were in the trees, another foot certainly fell in the courtyard that we spent an hour clearing as well," I reminded him, though judging by the look on his face he looked like he remembered quite well. "It's going to be completely blanketed when we go back. We're going to have to shovel the whole ruddy thing over again!"

There was silence for about 10 seconds as that sunk in.

"And you say you _like _snow?" he asked incredulously, staring out at the white rooftops with wide eyes. I nodded slowly. He raised a good point. I felt like an idiot.

"I can't imagine the bloody hell why!"

"Well it's not all bad," I defended innocently, trying desperately to remain optimistic.

"Not all bad, is it? Weasley, if you can name one good thing about this snow _or _this detention assignment, I'll buy you dinner. Twice."

Oh I could name a reason, alright. And even though I was quite certain Draco considered himself an attractive person, I was _absolutely _certain he didn't appreciate looking at himself as much as I did. No, I would have to come up with something else entirely, for that was completely out of the question.

How about the new experience it introduced him to? I bit my lip. Something told me Draco didn't really _care_ to be introduced to anything related to physical labor _or _muggles. Since this was both combined, he probably wouldn't think that such a good feature. I personally was enjoying the pretty landscape, but I wasn't exactly sure if Draco even knew what the word 'pretty' meant, so that was a no go. No, I definitely needed a much more boring, masculine reason….I glanced sideways at him, and saw him roll a pair of knotted shoulders. I blinked, stuffing my hands in my pockets to defend against reaching over and running them across his back.

And then, with wide eyes, "I'd wager it's responsible for that muscle tension." I hadn't realized my observation had been vocalized until he looked over at me, abandoning his attempt to discretely roll his shoulders. I felt like clamping a hand over my mouth.

"I _don't_ have muscle tension," he sneered. I turned away.

"Right, of course not," I answered. I rolled my eyes. Malfoy's don't get muscle tension! What was I thinking? What a good for nothing—

"But if I _did_, how would that possibly be a good thing?" his voice cut in. I closed my eyes for a moment to refrain from glaring at him. He always had to save himself at the last second, didn't he? Right when I was ready to pass judgment he made me completely reconsider his character. There was only one ailment that could possibly cause this habit in a human being: he was male. And Malfoy to boot! That alone explained a hell of a lot about his character.

"Must've given you a right good workout, then," I pointed out. "My calves are killing me," I added, so as to make him feel more manly and such. He snapped his head down to my ankle, and I mentally groaned, having forgot he would freak out at the mention of my injury.

"Your calves or your ankle?"

"Never mind that. The point is I found something good about spending the day in a snowball," I grinned. He looked less than amused.

"Hardly…" he muttered to himself, "let's just get this blasted task over with before we're up to our elbows in the wretched substance."

I looked over to where I imagined the stairs leading down the hill were located and laughed.

"After you," I said. There was no way I was going to jump headlong into a four-foot mound with Draco Malfoy at my back. No sir. If anyone was going to be the fool here, it'd be him. I took a step back so as to allow him a nice clear spot to jump from.

Draco turned to look at me, and I decided I definitely didn't like the look he had on his face. He placed a gloved hand on his heart, or where a normal person's heart was located, and took a step towards me.

"What kind of common filth do you take me for, Weasley?" My stomach clenched as I realized what he was talking about. Oh god…

"The blond sort?" He smirked. I knew where this conversation was going, and I didn't like it one bit. I may be a Gryffindor, but even the bravest feel fear, and at that moment I felt about as stoic as Neville Longbottom. He openly smiled, and I lost any nerve I had ever possessed.

In no more than a second I was spinning around madly, fleeing down the cobblestone like a frightened ninny. In my haste, I didn't exactly take into account the fact that I was wearing oversized, heavy boots, or that there was still a small amount of snow dusting the pathway. I skidded around the corner and took off like a banshee down the straight shot. The instant I got my first good stride in I knew it was a losing battle. My boots made running next to impossible, and I got little to no traction on the slippery surface we had only just shoveled. Still, I raced forward. I had absolutely no idea where I was going, but as long as it was away from Malfoy, I frankly didn't care.

As if to mock me, I suddenly became aware of an utterly terrifying sound; the rapid snap of what I knew could only be Draco's expensive boots against the stone. If at all possible, my panic level increased. Whether or not that was to my benefit I didn't know; there was already enough adrenaline pumping through my veins to get a two ton whale moving. My already aching calf began to scream in protest at the exertion, and I could feel it lagging behind the other miserably as I sprinted. I cursed under my breath. I didn't know if I could keep him chasing me forever, but you don't grow up with six older brothers and gain nothing from it; I didn't doubt that I'd give him a run for his money. That, of course, was taking into account that this blasted leg be completely functional.

I focused all my energy on running, only aware of the thudding of my heart in my chest and the sharp crack of Draco's boots. I pressed onward, the pain in my leg almost unbearable, my mind trying to tell my frantic heart that I was only imagining the footsteps becoming louder. The tingling in my spine suggested otherwise, and in my distraction I stumbled over my bum ankle, miraculously managing to maintain my momentum. I knew then that it was over.

Before I could properly brace myself a pair of arms encircled me, stilling my getaway and pulling me flush against a firm chest.

"Ah, the thrill of the chase," a raspy voice breathed in my ear. I shivered, struggling unsuccessfully in his grip. "I have to admit, Weaslette, you're a fair runner, though your form is a bit rough around the edges."

I gasped as my legs lifted off the ground momentarily.

"Now as I was saying before you very rudely abandoned me, what kind of person do you take me for?" he whirled me around much too easily for my taste despite my efforts. I tried to elbow him, but my arms were nearly pinned to my sides beneath his own. When that didn't work, I tried stomping on his foot, only to discover that the high price I knew he had paid for his boots must have been worth it, for they were much too sturdy to allow any pain to reach his foot. Things were not looking good for Ginny Weasley.

"Draco, let _go_!" I squawked as he began ushering me forward.

"Tsk, tsk, Ginevra, we've got a job to do!" he chastised. I froze momentarily as he used my name, allowing him to lift me again and gain several yards. I dug my boots in resolutely.

"Don't call me Ginevra. I hate that name." I glared at his shadow in the snow.

"What would you have me call you then?" he whispered. I felt my head cloud as something truly exotic smothered my thoughts. My knees gave out, destroying the brace I had formed, and I lost another few yards against Draco as I nearly fell to the ground.

That, ladies and gents, was the first time I smelled Draco Malfoy's cologne. Good thing I didn't lose control, eh?

"Ginny? Is that what you prefer?" His voice was probably the only thing that could have pulled me out of my near comatose state. Fantastic. The twit had to smell good too, didn't he?

"Yes, and Ginny _really _wants you to let go of her," I nearly begged, momentarily forgetting his scent at the thought of what was to come.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question. We have a job to do, and I can't have you running away now, can I?"

"I'm not going anywhere near that snow bank." I heard him laugh, his breath tickling my neck.

"I think you mean you're not _willingly _going anywhere near that snow bank."

"I'm not going at all. Period."

He sighed. "I didn't want it to come to this, but if you won't cooperate, you don't leave me with much choice." I felt his hold lessen for a moment, but I knew better than to expect him to give up. What I did _not _expect, however, was for the idiot to pick me up entirely. I shrieked as he scooped my legs off of the ground, capturing them under the knees.

"P-put me down, you maniac!" I cried, eyes widening as we rounded the corner. I kicked violently, but the only thing I managed to achieve was a striking resemblance to a small child throwing a fit. I swallowed as he stepped up to the edge of the hill, not wanting to peer over the edge.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes, my manners," Draco drawled, smirking down at me. I looked up at him in horror.

"You wouldn't dare." He raised his eyebrows, smiling arrogantly. He would, and we both knew it.

"Ladies first, darling," he winked—yes, he had the audacity to actually _wink_—and without further ado, yours truly was dropped unceremoniously into a waist-deep snow bank.

**END CHP 9**

There ya go! Sorry if that seemed like a horrible chapter break, but it was either there or another several hundred words later, and that would have meant an even longer wait. **Review, please!**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hello again! This chapter took a bit longer to write than I initially thought it would, but it also turned out longer than I anticipated as well, so I hope it's satisfactory….**

**One thing I'd like you guys to know, however, is that I didn't edit this chapter. At all. I've been working on it for probably about 4 straight hours, and I just don't have the energy or patience left to reread it for mistakes or lame parts. Sorry. **

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 10**

Initially the only thing residing in my head was rage. I must elaborate though, as that makes it sound much too simplistic and this really wasn't your every day kind of fury. Oh no, this was a blinding, white-hot surge that made me momentarily consider killing the prat standing behind me, even if it meant going to Azkaban. Though it did only last a few moments, the wrath managed to rear its ugly head. Course, it wouldn't have been nearly as ferocious if hehadn't opened his clearly enormous mouth to antagonize me first.

"How's the water, Weasley?" he called dubiously. My eyes narrowed dangerously at the lightness he dared to use.

"Unless you want to find out in a rather disagreeable fashion, I suggest you shut your mouth you _pompous_—"

My colorful sentence broke off at the sound of crunching snow behind me. Brow furrowing in confusion, I turned around to find the source of the noise, and nearly cursed upon seeing him now well past knee-deep in the snow bank with me. Until recently I hadn't really considered myself a person who was often caught off-guard. It was moderately vexing that he had managed to do so probably close to a dozen times already, and I doubted it would stop there. My momentary fit of rage was replaced with some twisted type of calm wonder. There he goes again with the saving himself thing! Call me foolish, but it was during that moment in which I came to terms with the verity that not only would Draco Malfoy continue to surprise me, but there was a good chance I wouldn't understand the reasoning behind half of the things he did. I suppose it's a rather good thing that I'm persistent, for I still planned on _trying_ to understand.

"You know, as humorous as seeing you nearly up to your arse in snow is, I expect we'll both get swallowed up in a matter of minutes if we don't start moving."

Now completely unsure of how I was supposed to be reacting to the entire situation, I really had no choice but to simply nod mutely, my eyes meeting his in an almost exhausted manner. I turned around rather awkwardly, pausing momentarily to stare down the path toward our destination is resignation. I don't like being pessimistic, but at that point only one word summed up my thoughts concerning the whole matter. Shit.

I timidly wiggled a leg to get a feel for how this was going to work. I began to slowly pull it upwards when a very uncomfortable situation arose. I realized quite suddenly that the snow was much too high to allow me to pick my feet up and step through the embankment, less I was very, _very _flexible. Even if I _was_ that flexible, that clearly wouldn't be something I would want to exhibit in front of Malfoy, anyhow. Damn it all, I was going to have to wade through the snow like a bloody fish—a fish! I don't even _like _fish! Curse my short legs.

Hesitantly I began to drag my limbs through the mound, trying not to dwell on the icy twinge of the snow seeping through my layers of clothing. It felt like I had strapped lead to the bottom of my feet, and after only the first step I could feel my muscles groaning in protest. Still, I pushed onward until I felt something solid underneath my boot, presumably the ground.

"Err….Weasley?" his voice cut in. I ignored him. He was breaking my focus.

Now let me tell you, that strenuous first step was an absolute cake walk compared to what happened next. As I began to heave my…_questionable_ ankle through the mound, I was met by a sharp, biting pain so excruciating I thought the joint had clearly snapped in two yet again. On top of the ankle issue, the feeling of the ice scraping against my no doubt tattered and bruised calf was no walk in the park to deal with either. Note to self: ankle cannot yet be stretched or pulled.

I ceased the movement immediately, but not quickly enough. I wasn't able to prevent the curse from escaping my lips.

"Bugger…" I whispered fiercely, and then very nearly cursed again upon realizing what would ensue.

"What's the matter?" I heard his voice call out sharply. I froze for a moment, though this time figuratively, praying he wouldn't start badgering me about my blasted ankle. I didn't have to put much effort into the cover up that followed, as I quickly fed him the other problem instead.

"I can't bloody move, that's what!" my voice climbed a bit higher than usual as I lied, but I doubted he would notice. I could have sworn I heard him sigh in relief, but I could have also sworn that at that point I was a bit hysterical. I was cold. I wanted a butterbeer. My stocking was all bunched up in the toe of my boot. I could feel melted snow running down my pants. Something on my lower leg was causing me immense pain. And on top of it all, I really, _really _wanted Draco to pick me up again. I guess that made me a shivering, thirsty, uncomfortable, soggy, sore, lusty, lump of a girl. Comforting thoughts, those, I must say.

"I'd say that's a problem, yes," he snickered. "Call me crazy, but usually walking is a pretty efficient method of moving oneself about." I sent him a glare over my shoulder that I hoped spoke for itself.

"However, since you appear to have legs of less than average length that may prove to be a bit difficult." The comment itself would have normally enticed a smart retort from me, but it almost seemed more like a statement of fact rather than an insult. I turned away from him, shaking my head in disgust as I wondered hopelessly if I was beginning to make excuses for him. As if the spoiled thing didn't have enough people kissing his arse already, honestly. Usually I'm not a very self-conscious person, but turning into just another one of those lovesick fools was simply _not _a priority of mine, and the notion that I was perhaps creating a false illusion in my head left me with a very unsettling feeling in my gut.

"May I suggest, Ginny, that you implement the use of your shovel?" I stilled. Right. I hadn't thought of that. Needless to say, other _things _seemed to be occupying my thoughts, effectively distracting me. Not only was he responsible for throwing me into the bleeding snow to begin with, but he was also the reason I couldn't think of a way to get out. Amazing how everything can be tied back to him, isn't it? I cleared my throat.

"Probably'd help if I knew where the bugger was," I answered somewhat truthfully, thankful for the millionth time that day that he couldn't read my thoughts. I could only imagine the smug look on his face had he known I hadn't even thought of the shovel.

"You might try looking to the right," he suggested casually. My eyes darted in said direction and sure enough, there was a shovel shaped imprint embedded in the thick snow not five feet away. Smooth, Gin, _real _smooth.

Finding no words appropriate to lessen my apparent idiocy, I decided it best not to comment. After mumbling a quick thanks I grabbed the shovel—a task that proved somewhat difficult as I was stuck in place and could barely manage to stretch the 5 feet to reach it—and began awkwardly shifting small shovelfuls out of my path.

I continued in that fashion for the next several minutes, grateful for the silence that allowed me to, at the very least, appear _somewhat_ collected. For nearly the first time since I had eaten breakfast that morning, my thoughts drifted to something other than Draco Malfoy; a sad fact indeed, I know, but I still felt somewhat proud of myself nonetheless. As I eyed The Three Broomsticks warily, I realized rather morosely that I was hungry as well, and I mentally added it to my growing list of ailments and disagreeable conditions. The list itself hardly needed to exist, as the aches in nearly every part of my body, whether it be because of a lack of food or because of the wind-blown hair of the blond behind me, were reminders enough. My eyelids began to slip, but popped open immediately as a swatch of grey meandered into the outer reaches of my peripheral vision.

I looked on with an expression somewhere between revulsion and absolute envy as Malfoy walked—yes, _walked_—past me through the snow. My eyes stared dejectedly at his back, and at some point my mouth fell slightly open as I sighed pathetically. Yes, the most rational thing to do was to start heaving away, as the snow surely wasn't going to shovel itself—though the thought was quite pleasant—but at that moment I decided that anyone in my situation would also rationalize taking a minute or four to wallow miserably in self-pity, and if now wasn't the perfect time for such a moment I'd strip down to my skivvies and make a snow angel whilst belting out a chorus of 'God Save the Queen'.

After a few steps Draco must have realized that where a laboring, snow-shoveling Ginny should have stood, an utterly pitiable, completely motionless girl stood in her place, and he turned to look at me in confusion. The included the part of me that was allowing the shovel to hang pathetically from my hand. His stone gaze darted from my expression, to the shovel, to the snow separating us. I was slightly aware of the hint of a smile dancing across his features before an eyebrow arched suspiciously and he shook his head. I didn't really have time to wonder what that look meant, but that was okay for two reasons.

The first was that if I was brutally honest with myself, I quite frankly didn't care what that look meant, for at that point all I wanted was to get out of the sodding snow. Call me insensitive —perhaps even apathetic— but I wasn't too hung up about it. After all, I had spent the better part of the day thus far interpreting the git's every move; I deserved a break.

The second reason was fairly easy to understand. I didn't _have _to wonder what the look meant because after a few moments Draco Malfoy was suddenly lifting large shovelfuls out of my path. I'm not exactly sure as to whether it was the prospect of perhaps _not _being stuck in the snow bank for all eternity, or because Draco was—for reasons that weren't entirely clear, surprise, surprise!— assisting me for no apparent benefit of his own, but something managed to pull me out of my depressed stupor.

He worked quickly, and his movements were the most glorious sight I had ever seen. This was partially because they allowed me to start moving towards the pub, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that a large part of it was because of the sheer beauty of that moment. Falling snow whirled around him as the wind tousled his white-blond hair, the faintest of pink glows evident on his cheeks. In any case, the boy looked amazing, and that's pretty much all you need to know.

Anyway, an odd sort of warmth began to fill me as I watched him, and I suddenly wanted to thank him, or say something, or….well, do _anything_ to show my gratitude. My naughty subconscious suggested giving him a nice "gracious" hug, but I squashed that idea with moderate difficulty. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't for the life of me come up with any way to thank Draco Malfoy without sounding like a complete buffoon. If you don't believe me, try it sometime and you'll realize just how intimidating the task is.

Draco closed the remaining distance between as he threw the last shovelful aside. I watched as his eyes almost reluctantly began the trek up to my own, and only when they touched mine in a near timid manner—and had it been any other person, I would have used that word, but since it was Draco we were talking about, I decided that 'hesitant' would be a much better way to describe it—did he straighten to his full height. I felt the warmth from earlier intensify, and offered him the only type of gratitude I could think of, the corners of my mouth turning upwards in a small smile.

If there was one thing I had noticed about Draco over the years, it was the degree of restraint he exercised when trying to act indifferent. Countless times before I had seen him glower at Harry, knuckles white with rage before stalking away, or watched as he plastered a sneer on his face to mask the fact that he found a joke funny. It was quite a change of pace then, when I saw him return the gesture, his eyes open and genuine. It only lasted a second before he seemed to snap back to reality, his brow furrowing as he shook his head. I didn't fail to notice however, that the smile never completely left his lips. His cool, grey eyes seemed to regain their usual daring after a moment, and they flicked with amusement as the smile spread into a smirk.

"So d'you _still _like snow, then?" He raised an eyebrow expertly. I tried not to notice, but I did anyway. Funny how that works, isn't it? My smile grew at his words as I detected the teasing undertone hidden amongst them.

"This isn't just a snowfall anymore, I'm afraid. We're standing in the middle of a right nasty blizzard," I responded, looking up into the swirling cyclone of snow that was the sky. "Well, at least I can get to the pub now." Draco bit back a sarcastic laugh.

"You don't honestly think I'm going to shovel the whole way for you, do you?" I felt my stomach turn in on itself. Honestly? No, I hadn't. That didn't mean that I wasn't hoping, though…

"Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of shoveling myself, anyhow," I replied haughtily, trying to cover up any evidence that would suggest I had thought otherwise.

He made another sound in his throat.

"And you expect me to wait here while you dig yourself out of this hell hole? Think again, Weasley, for you have greatly overestimated my morality," he smirked, unaware that he had just vocalized my fears. My mind went painfully blank. A silent moment passed.

"Have I?" I asked quietly, much to my own surprise as well as Draco's. He looked a little taken aback by my change of tone, and his smirk all but vanished. I was wise in not expecting an answer, for the only means of reply was a hollow look followed by the shift of his eyes to the ground. If I hadn't known any better, it would almost appear that he didn't know the answer himself.

I suddenly felt a little guilty over asking him such a question, and in hopes of sparing him any further discomfort, stepped around him to continue shoveling. Before I could even properly get the metal edge underneath the flakes, he spoke.

"Don't do that." He demanded in a calm voice. It was like he had used reverse psychology or some such nonsense on me, for I felt my temper flare despite his tone. What did the sod want from me? I threw up my arms in exasperation, hoping for Draco's own sake that he had best decide, less he acquire a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head.

"And why the bloody hell not?" I whirled, meeting his slate eyes in defiance. "_Someone _needs to shovel, and if _you're _not going to shovel, and _I _don't shovel, I really don't see any possible way to get out of this…this… "I trailed off awkwardly—not something that usually happens to me, which only made me angrier. Draco looked slightly amused. "Am I missing something?" I cried. I was beginning to feel hysterical again.

My only response was an eye roll followed by the readjustment of his cap, which I was starting to hate as it made him look far too attractive for his own good. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps no-one ever told the git that an eye roll and a smirk weren't acceptable means of conversation. God knows he didn't appear to understand that concept.

"Well excuse me for not seeing to obvious!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "I'm not nearly as quick-witted as most people, because apparently I'm failing to notice something!" I choked back tears, and I realized that the hysterical thing wasn't just a figment of my imagination. In horror I realized the dam had broken, but that didn't stop my ranting.

"Weasley-"

"Please Draco, enlighten me!"

"_Weasley-_"

"Really, I'm sorry you have to put up with me!"

I saw him sigh, and he thrust his shovel into my hands, expression strangely calm. "Hold this." I wasn't really aware of the fact that I had obeyed, as I was far too concerned with making my voice as loud as possible and fighting the tightening sensation in my chest.

"I mean really, the last thing you need is some stupid, blubbering girl gallivanting about you!"

"Climb on my back."

"The last thing I'd want is to turn into one of—"

I felt my mouth abruptly stop moving as his words sunk in, my breathing now coming in a series of shaky, uneven gasps.

"W-what?" I hiccupped, feeling the shovels falling loose from my hands at the thought.

"Just listen to me. You're absolutely delirious," he spoke slowly, his voice serious and somehow calming, as it had been that day in the Entrance Hall. "I'm going to carry you to the pub, but I need you to hold the shovels." He raised his eyebrows in question, and I managed a nod.

He turned around, hunching over a bit so as to allow me to reach him easier. Looking back on that moment, it's probably a good thing that I was a bit of a nutcase. I shudder to think of what kinds of thoughts would have entered my head had it been in normal, functioning order. I swallowed as my arms timidly wrapped around his neck, the shovels crossed over his chest in my hand. Draco reached behind me, his hands finding the backs of my knees.

"Wrap your legs around me." It didn't occur to me to disobey his instruction, and I chose not to reason out why that was. He shifted me up on his back, and slowly straightened up. "Bloody hell, you're shaking," he muttered in a low voice. I closed my eyes and snuggled up against the think fabric of his coat, trying desperately to ignore the aches and pains while steady my breathing.

"S-sorry…" I mumbled into his collar. I wondered fleetingly if having his hands wrapped my legs had anything to do with the trembling. Or perhaps it was the proximity to his neck, as I could almost feel soft wisps of platinum hair against my cheek.

He turned his head to the side at my words, barely able to catch my gaze out of the corner of his eye. My breath hitched irregularly again, and this time I _knew _it was his fault, as I couldn't help but notice that with his head turned his thin lips were only inches from my own. I avoided letting the skin of my forehead press against his cheek, for I knew that it would all go down hill if I made any sort of contact. I closed my eyes as a wave of lightheadedness washed over me.

"It's not like it's your fault. Your blood sugar is probably low. Not to mention we're both positively soaked," he added gruffly. "Now don't fall off, will you? I don't want to have to dig you out _again_." I tightened my grip in response, not finding sufficient air in my lungs to speak.

I had expected the process to be rather jarring and incredibly slow-moving, but it was neither. Draco's steps were even, and though they were a bit slower than usual, it didn't appear that my weight was _too _strenuous on his frame. I peered through half opened eyes down his torso, watching the powerful muscles of his legs tense with every movement. I let my eyes drift shut after awhile, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing and inhaling his magnificent cologne.

I lost track of just how far we had walked, or how much time had passed. All I knew was that it took much longer to walk the 100 yards to the pub than it should have, and I mentally cursed McGonagall. The woman had sent us on a bloody suicide mission!

I felt Draco still beneath me, but was unable to open my eyes due to sheer exhaustion. He shifted my weight slightly, and a loud thumping sound that remotely resembled a boot colliding with wood made me realize we had reached The Three Broomsticks. The heavy oak door creaked open after a minute, and strained, tired voice reached my ears.

"Oh, gods! You're here! Hurry in, please!" I vaguely attributed the voice to that of Rosmerta. I felt Draco move again, and was met with a flood of warm air and bright light. I squeezed my eyelids shut tighter.

"Ginny, you can let go of the shovels, now," a hoarse, sick sounding voice whispered near my ear, and I realized with a start that it was Draco's. I did so gratefully, and after stretching my fingers painfully, let the shovels clatter to the floor.

"Minerva warned me that you'd be coming through! I frankly can't believe she sent you out in this storm at all, 'course I'm sure she had no idea…" Rosmerta had spoken again, but I had trouble placing it as the voices were starting to go a bit hazy. "There's a spare room downstairs, please make yourselves comfortable. My lord you look absolutely horrid! Get yourselves warmed up and I can whip you up something to eat as soon as you like! Go on, now! Get some rest, will you?"

Draco's breathy reply of thanks was the last thing I remembered before falling into unconsciousness.

**END CHP 10**

**Hoped you enjoyed it, even though it was a bit rough around the edges… review please.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: **Hey there. You guys, I hate how this chapter turned out. It doesn't even FEEL like my writing. Still, maybe some of you will enjoy it, eh? On the plus side, it's very long. Lol. As if that makes up for it…..

Anyhow:

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 11**

I awoke with a bang. You know how usually when you wake up it's a gradual, delicate process? I'm sure everyone has their own unique system, but in my case, it usually includes admitting to yourself that your dream about some damned blond-haired boy wasn't actually real, squinting as you grow accustomed to the presence of the cursed light that awoke you in the first place, and finally regaining feeling in your limbs as your senses finally kick in. 10 minutes later, I'm usually what most people would consider 'awake'. I'm sure you get some sort of image, right?

Now let me just say, I've woken up that way—with the exception of the ruddy dream, and as to whether or not that is good or bad, I am _still_ uncertain—for approximately 99.9 percent of my life. Needless to say, I have grown rather accustomed to waking up in that sort of fashion.

Take a moment to imagine my alarm then, when my eyes were suddenly open, my breathing was completely erratic, thinking caused nearly physical pain, and my body was suddenly tingling all over. It was like I had been thrown into a pool and it had awoken me from a coma. I'll say it again: I awoke with a bang.

I pushed aside the uneasy feeling in my mind and tried to grasp on to _anything_ in order to gain my bearings about me. I vaguely recalled an unfamiliar voice opening a door, but the majority of my memory served as means of preserving the sound, feel and smell of someone else. I remembered hands beneath my knees, wool against my cheek, and the tickle of raspy breath whispering in my ear. I closed my eyes again, fully under the impression that I had yet to overcome the 'dream portion' of my wake-up system.

It was then that it happened. Something soft gently brushed against my hand. Until that moment, I hadn't _really _looked at my surroundings. My eyes had been open before, yes, but I had been otherwise occupied with trying to remember exactly what had happened, and therefore hadn't actually _seen _anything. I reopened my eyes, allowing them to immediately flicker to the source of the touch. There they were met by a sight so surreal I almost considered the possibility that I had imagined the feeling, for this was truly something I could only dream about.

Draco Malfoy was sound asleep. And he was lying next to me.

All at once I was grateful for my semi-groggy state of mind. I was nearly afraid to breathe for fear of waking him; Satan knows what a shame it would be to shatter something so exquisitely beautiful. Draco was lying on his stomach, his head turned to one side. His eyes were gently closed, and his lips were parted slightly as he took slow, rhythmic breaths. Both of his arms were spread wide, and I noticed it was his slender fingers barely resting in my palm that had caused the sensation earlier. His cap lay forgotten on the bed several feet from his head, and I followed the line of his still cloaked spine down to where his legs dangled off the mattress irregularly. The boy looked positively exhausted, as if he had simply collapsed, unable to make it completely onto the bed.

As soon as the thought entered my head, I felt like slapping myself. He _was_ exhausted Ginny, you half-wit! He carried your sorry arse around, didn't he? From the looks of it, that was no easy task. Glancing down again, I realized quite suddenly that my _own _feet were hanging off the bed and that my arms were spread out, though I was on my back. I began to feel a bit guilty. From the looks of things, collapsing was _exactly _what Draco had done.

I lay there for awhile after the thought came to me, relishing the feel of his fingertips skimming my palm and the ruffled state of his platinum hair. I wasn't exactly sure why, but the notion that Draco had almost—_almost_, demonstrated an interest in my well-being was somewhat endearing. Of course, I'm sure the way his eyelashes were floating across his skin had something to do with my sudden increase in..._fondness_ for the bloke, because heaven forbid he look less than impeccable doing _anything_. I was tempted to run a finger across that skin, and I nearly did. I would have, too, if I hadn't recognized that as I was now fully conscious, lusty thoughts and all, touching Draco probably wouldn't be the _best _idea. Especially when he looked like—well, how he did.

Smiling slightly, I carefully slid my hand out from under his fingertips, taking immense care not to wake him. Utilizing all the abdomen muscle I had, I pulled my torso up with moderate difficulty. Making a mental note to tell Harry to intensify that aspect of our training, I moved to stand. Needless to say, my stomach muscles weren't the only ones that were a bit achy. I stretched my arms to the ceiling, but it wasn't until I attempted to walk around the small room that I realized one of my legs—I'll give you one guess as to which one—was completely and utterly numb. I stumbled slightly, wincing as my hip connected with the corner of a desk, partly because of the pain and partly because of the rather loud noise it made. A Weasley wasn't generally known for their grace, and I was no exception.

A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Draco was still asleep. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the thought that he, the one-who-was-always-in-control, was completely oblivious to what was going on around him. Smirking slightly, I turned, taking particular joy in yanking off my boots and—_finally_!—my bunched up socks. As I wondered where to put the items, I took the opportunity to examine the small room more closely.

A single bed draped in several thick blankets lay in the corner, and a desk—the one I had not so gracefully slammed into—sat on the wall several feet from the foot of the bed. A large, frayed rug covered the cold wooden floor, and a spindly coat rack was standing in the corner opposite the bed, not far from the small staircase leading to the door at the top of it. Finally, a rather worn armchair lay carelessly against the wall opposite the desk. From what I could tell, the room was below ground level, as there were no windows and the door at the top of the stairs indicated that we were surely below the rest of the pub.

I walked a bit unsteadily over to the coat rack and placed my boots against the stairs, hanging my damp cloak up on one of the hooks along with my equally wet socks, hat, scarf and mittens. Although the rest of my clothing was a bit damp as well, I really had no other option than to keep it on, and thus decided to make do.

This caused me to turn to Draco almost piteously. The chap was still fully clothed in his coat and boots, and from the awkward angle of his back hanging off the bed, he didn't look too comfortable. Debating whether or not I dared using my efforts to help him, I couldn't help but feel obligated as I looked back on what he had done for me today. Yes, he had given me numerous near heart attacks. Yes, he had set my skin on fire. Yes, he had thrown me in a snow bank. But he had also done more than his share of the shoveling, not to mention hauled me across the entire bleeding village.

I felt obligated. And grateful, too, I suppose. Either way, my mind was made up, and I marched purposefully over to the bedside; I had an unsettling feeling that the longer I debated on the matter, the more likely I was to lose my nerve. I didn't really blame myself for that one. Undressing Draco Malfoy _was_ a right bit intimidating, for reasons that need not be mentioned. I clasped my hands methodically as I took a moment to examine the er…situation. It really wasn't my fault that my eyes thought it entirely necessary to glue themselves momentarily to his arse. Not that it was _bad _looking, mind you, but—well that's really not the point. After my apparent hunger for eye-candy was sated, I decided that the best approach would probably be to simply lift his feet onto the bed, sort of turning him in the process.

I grabbed one booted foot in each hand and gave a hefty pull, but after my back nearly had a spasm under the strain, I realized I had probably best remove the boots and _then _move the idiot. As I undid the silver snaps on each, I couldn't help but grin as I wondered if Draco had someone who did this for him when he was at home. Surely the prat was spoiled enough. I pulled off the boots, which was no easy task as I soon learned that the ruddy things were quite heavy, and placed them alongside my own behind the coat rack. This time when I lifted his legs I encountered no pressing problem other than the fact that the feel of his ankles beneath his stockings was something to be noted, and I didn't fail to notice the definition of his calf muscles either as I moved him. After situating him satisfactorily, I gathered his scattered hat and removed a Slytherin green scarf from his neck, placing them on the coat rack to dry. I wasn't nearly gutsy enough—or stupid, depending on how you looked at it—to attempt to remove his coat.

He still looked _quite _asleep after the whole ordeal, and after a final glance around the room, I decided to wander upstairs in search of a bathroom. My hair felt limp and matted, and I shuddered to think of what state my clothing must be in. Freshening-up definitely sounded like a good idea.

I ascended the small, wooden staircase and pushed open the door to find myself in a short, warmly lit hallway. Candlesticks adorned the walls, and I walked past several doors and around a corner before a larger, swinging door came into view. I stepped through and found myself in the familiar back hallway of the pub; the door I had entered from was marked "Employees Only" on this side. Entering a bathroom gratefully, I recognized that Rosemerta must have been letting us use a spare bedroom she kept in case of emergencies. Travelers often passed through, and the pub owner made a fair profit by sometimes administering rooms to folks in need when the Inn was full.

I stared long and hard into the mirror at the somewhat horrific sight before me. My hair was indeed matted into clumps from the frozen snow, and my eyes looked somewhat puffy from sleep. My lips were chapped and cracked from the cold, and perhaps oddest of all, a bit of dirt was on my left cheek. I was glad to know that Draco wasn't awake to see this, let me say. After quickly using the facilities and washing my hands, I returned to the mirror and ran a bit of warm water over my face. I attempted to rake my fingers through my hair, but my efforts proved futile.

A desperate, brief examination of the bathroom revealed a "Friendly Wizard Travel Station" mounted on the far wall. I was elated to see that the remarkable device contained such things as toothpaste and toothbrushes, lotions, soaps and shampoos, nail files, and most blessedly of all, cheap plastic combs. I wasn't too thrilled when I noticed that I'd have to pay 2 sickles and a knut for the damned thing, but for the second time since I'd woken up, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Grumpily I reached into my trouser pocket for the required amount, amazed that I even had change floating around in there to begin with.

My disposition improved, however, after I had ran the thing through my hair, my locks now considerably softer than before. Well, no-one can say that Ginny Weasley didn't give it her all, eh? Waving a hand in dismissal, I left the bathroom and continued down the hallway to the main pub area, though the room was much different than it normally looked.

Most all of the tables and chairs were gone, save for a half-dozen small ones along the outside of the space. The large stone fireplace in the middle of the area danced with life, and lamps burned on the walls, basking the room in a cheerful orange glow. I noticed three or four people sitting amongst the room as I stepped out from the hallway.

"You're awake, then. Feeling better, are you?" Rosemerta greeted me from behind the bar, where it appeared that she was hastily working on the beginnings of a meal.

"Yes ma'am. Well, _I_ am, anyway. Can't speak much for the other one as he's still passed out downstairs," I answered, watching as she stopped to send a seemingly pleased nod in my direction before turning once again to her barely started cooking.

"I imagine you're hungry, eh? You look it. I can always tell when a witch or wizard is hungry," she pursed her lips, her eyes smiling as she began to pull more ingredients out from cupboards I hadn't known existed. "Spose it comes from the business."

At the mere mention of food my body suddenly became aware of the fact that it hadn't eaten since 10 that morning, and my frame suddenly became weak and shaky.

"I'm starved," I admitted, glancing over the counter. "Is there anything I can do to help? I'm no gourmet chef, but I can chop vegetables and grill chicken." To be honest, I felt it was the least I could do seeing as she had let the pair of us lodge up in one of her rooms for awhile, and hey, if it got the food cooked faster, why _not _help? It's not like I had anything else to do at the moment. Sadly, I was kind of lost without Draco's companionship. Not that I'd ever let _him _know that.

Rosemerta sent me a wary glance for a moment and then shrugged.

"Why not?" I smiled, and moved behind the counter.

"What exactly are we making?"

"Supplies are a bit short, I'm afraid. We've to make do with a fair amount of steaks, some onions and carrots—" oh, _marvelous _"—and a whole sack of potatoes," she finished, kicking a large bag gently. "I figured we could throw all of it in some roasting pans with the onions for a bit of seasoning, and end up with some pot roast and assorted cooked vegetables." She looked to me and shrugged again.

"Sounds good to me," I replied, pushing up my sweater sleeves in earnest. I wasn't about to try my luck and admit that I hated carrots. Hell, I was so hungry I may even contemplate eating the damned things. Rosemerta sent me a small grin in return.

"I've also got a bit of whipping cream and marshmallows for hot chocolate later on, too. I reckon that'll fill everyone up, at least," she said. She placed her hands on her hips and looked out at the various people gathered in the pub.

"I think you're right," I answered, following her gaze. It then occurred to me that most people would be in during a storm as bad as this, and I wondered what on earth they were doing in the pub.

"Madam Rosemerta," I asked curiously, "what are people doing in here on a night like this? I mean, with the storm and all, I'd have thought they'd stayed off at home." I watched as she waved a hand, summoning two large cutting boards from thin air. I felt a pang of envy wash over me at her use of magic, and my fingers twitched longingly for the wand that was back in McGonagall's room. If _only _we had been allowed our wands on detention this one time….

"Well, dear," she said, pulling four large roasting pots out from low cupboards, "this lot here was among the last to leave the pub today when the storm began getting really nasty. They went straight off when I shooed them out, you see, a few going to the Inn for rooms, and the other pair heading off towards home, wherever that was. Some village about 20 miles from here, I think," she mused, her eyebrows furrowing. "Anyway, by then all the rooms at the Inn had been up and taken, and it was far too disastrous to travel anywhere, so they came clobbering back here, and I offered them to spend the night."

"It's that bad out? Everywhere, I mean?" I asked in disbelief. She only nodded gravely as a means of response before turning to me with a potato peeler in one hand, and a knife in the other.

"Which do you prefer?" She asked, raising her eyebrows, a small smile on her face.

"Potatoes please," I said, reaching for the peeler. "I've had enough eye-watering for today. That wind outside is right nasty." Rosmerta chuckled, then turned to her cutting board as she reached for an onion.

"I believe it. You know," she said thoughtfully, "I've gotta say, it's nice to have some female company around here."

"It's the least I could do to repay you for dinner," I shrugged, viciously attacking a potato with the peeler.

"Don't worry about it. It's more than your _male_ friend is doing, anyway."

"Hardly surprising," I answered under my breath, tossing the first potato into one of the roasters.

"Oh? He seemed like a nice boy, the way he lugged you through here, refusing to accept help when one of the other blokes offered to carry you downstairs, even though it was clear as day that the poor dear was exhausted. Seems to me he was pretty concerned for you."

I snorted. Draco? A poor dear? I took a moment to be briefly astounded by how quickly Draco had managed to get Rosemerta wound around his finger. How disgusting.

"The day Draco Malfoy becomes concerned about anything other than his own hide—me especially, well the very idea is just…just…" I waved the potato peeler around in exasperation as I searched for a word worthy of the situation.

"Romantic?"

I nicked my thumb on the potato peeler.

"I was actually thinking more along the lines of unlikely," I muttered, now feeling completely idiotic. I chose not to reveal to her that I was waiting for any indication that it was even possible. Was I that bloody obvious? Rosemerta clicked her tongue.

"You know what else this job has taught me?"

I stilled my peeling for a moment and glanced over at her.

"It's taught me how to interpret first impressions. It takes other people days to learn what I can detect in minutes. That's probably because that's all I get. I _have _to learn quick. I've been wrong before, and I may have been wrong earlier when I said what I did about that boy of yours, but the last time I was wrong a bloke left me nine sickles instead of the ten I'd expected, if you know what I mean." She looked meaningfully at me then, and gave a small wink.

I broke eye contact uneasily and continued the potato peeling. The woman honestly didn't know Draco Malfoy if she thought he could _care _for me. Still, she had noticed that I had a romantic interest in him, a scary thought considering I hadn't even mentioned him. Perhaps she wasn't exaggerating when she said she wasn't wrong often.

The whole thing was something to ponder as we worked, the winds outside still howling, the fire still dancing forcefully in the middle of the room. If I hadn't been wearing slightly damp clothing, I think the room would have been almost warm, if not cozy. I really didn't mind preparing dinner with Rosemerta. After she had mentioned Draco initially, she—thankfully—dropped the subject, and I discovered that she was a fairly funny lady as she told me story after story about her various adventures at the pub. Her words from earlier still echoed in the back of my mind despite the distraction, though, and a small part of me wasn't paying her the slightest bit of attention. I felt bad about it, too. Not to mention I was a little worried I was going to slice off a finger.

Soon enough the roasting pans were all filled, and the only thing left to do was to put them in the ovens. Rosemerta waved me off when I offered to help her with anything else, and after I washed my hands, I told her I was going to wake Draco for dinner. A lie—I had no intention of waking the boy, instead simply intent on finding out if he was still asleep—but I also had no intention on making it any more clear to Rosemerta that I might fancy Draco, and making it sound like I was afraid to wake him made me sound like a right pansy. It very well may have been too little too late as far as that subject was concerned, but forgive me if I felt the need to scrape that together as means of self-assurance.

I escaped from her presence with little more than a small smile on her part, and padded down the hallways towards the door leading to our room. _Our_ room—christ almighty, I made it out to sound like the two of us were living together _willingly_, on bloody holiday or something. I ran a hand over my face as I neared our—_the_, yes _the _door, thinking rather morosely that I had never felt so completely and utterly hopeless in my entire life.

And then I turned the door handle.

Now I'm only going to say this once, in hopes of minimizing the embarrassment that I endured within the next few moments, so pay attention so you can just get your laughs over and done with.

I turned the door handle and pushed open the silent door to the small room, eyes cast downward as I focused on the stairwell. As I started to descend, however, I glanced up casually, anticipating Draco to be asleep on the bed, or sitting in the armchair in that cool, detached manner of his.

That expectation was….well, it was shot to hell, really.

Draco was _not _asleep on the small, blanketed bed. Nor was he lounging about in the tattered armchair. He wasn't even looking about in disgust at his humble surroundings. No, Draco was instead standing in the center of the room, his back to the doorway, removing his sweater. It wasn't really the act of seeing a male shed clothing that I found startling—I had grown up with _far _too much of it to find it alarming. There would have been no problem _whatsoever_—or so I liked to think—if his white button-up shirt hadn't stuck to his sweater and revealed a very long, very lean back as he pulled it over his head. I couldn't stop my eyes from roaming from his exposed waist to the hypnotic way his shoulder blades moved as he shed the garment. Yes, it was only a glimpse, as the shirt quickly fell back into place, but a glimpse was all it took. One glimpse. One second.

And in my case, one missed stair. To this day I swear he did it on purpose. I mean honestly people, nobody, not even Draco himself, could have planned it better. In the precise moment my foot moved to the next stair, I got an eyeful of a semi-shirtless young man, and it hit me like a slap in the face. As the shirt fell back into place, I too, fell, though not nearly as gracefully. No, _my _fall was more comparable to the earlier shock I had felt. Boom, down. Like cement. A cement block that was rolled down a flight a stairs.

I cringed as one of my knees slammed into the wood of the stairs, sending me sideways down the steps at a breakneck speed and into the wall opposite them with a deafening thud. Somewhere in the process a flailing arm had collided into something hard, and my back ached something fierce. One of my legs was twisted underneath me, and the other was pressed painfully against the wall. I couldn't really breathe without risking my chest collapsing in on itself, so I did the only logical thing given my situation: I remained on my back, staring at the ceiling with wide, panicked eyes.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have remained there like that, but at the time, I figured I had nothing to lose. And then a blonde head appeared above me, and all the embarrassment came crashing down on my like a ton of bricks. The git didn't even speak, instead raising a usual eyebrow—though his eyes were unusually wide, as if startled—and making enduring the moment all the worse. It was _that _moment that replaced the '_our _room' instance as the most hopeless in my entire life. I had tripped down the stairs at the mere sight of him. My gods, if that didn't make me a hopeless case, I didn't know what would.

"Ow," I managed to breathe through burning lungs. He looked at me a moment, eyes flickering about my disoriented form, and I was pretty sure he shook his head a little, but I couldn't be quite sure, for I was still a little dizzy.

"Weasley?"

"Uh?"

"For fucks sake, are you trying to kill us both?" His voice remained calm, but nonetheless I blinked quite distinctly as his normally pristine speech became dirtied with curses. "First you try to give me a heart attack by means of that huge cacophony of a noise, and what's more, you try to break your neck in the process." I continued to look up at him, a sudden gratitude washing over me as he lightened the mood. I can't be entirely sure, but I am fairly certain I would have died had he submitted me to ridicule.

"Point taken," I grunted as I strained to lift myself up from the floor. I felt a hand reach down and assist my back while another slipped under a shoulder, pulling me up. I couldn't help but lean against him as he lifted me, seeing as my knees were a bit quaky and it felt like someone was driving an elbow into my spine.

"You're lucky I don't scare easily _and_ that you chose to fall down a rather short staircase," his drawled bemusedly. I chose not to comment back, as I was far too furious with the fact that he was touching me, and I was too preoccupied with trying to discern right from left to enjoy it. _Why _whenever he touched me, did it have to be under circumstances in which I couldn't get the full experience? I took a few slow breaths, closing my eyes in hopes of regaining control over my equilibrium and temper, and for what felt like the first time in years, something happened the way I expected it to, both things effectively assuaged when I reopened my eyes.

"I think I can stand now, thanks," I said in what I thought to be a stoic manner, pointedly annoying the voice telling me to prolong his touch. He simply raised an eyebrow, his hands unmoved.

"I don't believe you." I experienced a small bout of déjà vu at his words, as they were nearly identical to the ones he had used after I had trashed my ankle on the potatoes.

"Really, it's okay," I assured, taking a timid step forward. " I've just got a little kink in my—" I gasped a little as I tried to straighten my back more fully, the aforementioned kink more apparent than I had originally thought.

"Kink, eh?" Draco grinned wickedly. I tried to glare, but it didn't work quite as well when I was gasping for breath. "I thought as much," he said smugly. The hand that was bracing my shoulder wrapped around to between my shoulder blades, the other resting at the small of my back. Quite suddenly he ushered me to him, the front of my body nearly pressed against his.

"Draco what're you—"

"Arch your back."

"Why—"

"That _wasn't_ a question," he advised, voice dropping an octave as his lower hand slid up to the curve of my spine and began applying pressure when I didn't do as he demanded. Immediately I felt a heat well up inside me at his insistent, powerful manner, and when his low, commanding voice reached my ears I couldn't help but obey. I swallowed as I felt the hard lines of his body against my own.

"Like this?" I asked unsteadily.

"Yes," he answered quietly, a hand gently applying pressure with lean fingers as it trailed up and down my spine as if in search of something. This continued for a few moments until his fingers reached a sensitive spot, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me. I jerked my head back slightly in pain, my gaze shifting from his chest to his eyes. Unbeknownst to the rest of my being, I stilled completely, more than a little lost at the vision he made. His eyes had transformed again, flaring with intensity as his lips quirked to one side. I was captivated. Go figure.

"Aha," he mused, fingers treading delicately along the tender area. "That's quite the kink." I didn't respond, as my voice was lost somewhere in the gray of his eyes and the soft circles his fingers were beginning to make. He increased the pressure slightly, and I winced.

"Relax," he said in the same quiet voice, eyes softening. I complied, and felt the tension lessen as his fingers, which were now making deep, deliberate movements, worked. "Now arch your back again."

I did, a firm hand jerking forward as I conformed, a single vertebra cracking from the movement. I couldn't help from gasping from shock, and I realized with wide eyes that the ache was no longer there at all. His face became serious at my outburst, his gaze now steady and unwavering as it held my own. After a few moments I saw him swallow slightly, and he gave an almost undetectable nod before removing his hands from my back. I didn't know what to say. Can you blame me? I mean honestly, what do you say when a guy massages your back and makes your pain vanish into thin air? Somehow a simple thank you doesn't quite fit the bill, and my response was only slightly—if at all—better.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" I asked stupidly, and then immediately wondered if I really wanted to know the answer. "Thank you, Draco," I added quickly, cringing inwardly as I resorted to it. Hey, it was all I had, alright? His face turned impassive, and he turned away from me then, nodding to himself and running a hand through his hair. I couldn't help but wonder innocently if Draco had a problem accepting gratitude. When his shoulders tensed I tried my best not to recall how they had looked divested of any clothing, and despite my valiant efforts, lost the fight. Fortunately, Draco seemed to regain his composure, and turned around once more, smirk intact.

"Well haven't you been the happy little homemaker," he commented, waving a hand in the direction of the coat rack, which was now knocked to the ground. I vaguely remembered coming into contact with something on my stroll down the stairs, and made a mental note to move the bastardly thing later.

"Yes, well…" I shrugged, masking my embarrassment as his gaze fell to his boots, "I certainly didn't want to lounge about in my snow things, and I figured you'd feel the same." I considered apologizing about the intrusion of personal space, but trashed that idea as I remembered how his ankles had felt beneath my fingertips. Oh no, I wasn't sorry for that one bit.

Draco didn't respond, a lopsided grin and slight lift of eyebrows my only indication as to what he was thinking. I should get a medal for all the bloody malarkey I go through to understand the moron, really.

"Anyhow, the whole reason I came down here in the first place was to see if you were awake, and you—," I lost my train of thought momentarily as the image of his back flashed across my mind again. Yes, he most surely had been awake. "You are. Madame Rosemerta and I just finished dinner, and I came to fetch you. If you're hungry that is."

"You cooked dinner, Weasel?"

"I assisted, yes," I replied, pointedly ignoring his use of the nickname. His golden eyebrows arched yet again.

"Excellent. I'm sure you've had loads of practice with that sort of thing? Can't be _all_ bad, then, I'd imagine." My eyes narrowed slightly. If it hadn't been for his barely snotty tone, the statement would have been almost friendly, and in normal circumstances, it probably wouldn't have bothered me at all. Perhaps I overreacted a bit, but in my defense, I was one very, very food deprived witch.

"Oh come off it. If you don't want to eat my cooking, fine. I thought I was doing you a favor by coming to see if you were hungry—"

"Who said I wasn't hungry?"

"You—"

"I didn't."

"You—oh _sod_ this, I'm starving, and if you're going to insist on being a—"

"Wonderful, I'm famished myself. Though this isn't quite right…by our little wager earlier, _I _should be the one giving dinner," he trailed off, and I suddenly felt like a fool. I had just let Draco Malfoy lure me into a trap. He had intentionally gotten me riled up, yet I was astonished that he even remembered that part of our conversation.

I stood there for a moment, during which I continued to feel incredibly foolish, not saying anything. Draco crossed his arms.

"Isn't dinner upstairs?"

"It is, yeah."

I felt a hand touch my back.

"Well then lead the way. Can't have you nearly breaking your neck again, and at least this way you'll run into me and not the wall if you fall, which I'm beginning to think is inevitable," he rolled his eyes, and guided me towards the stairs, which I dazedly climbed. Caught somewhere in the midst of bewilderment and surprise, I decided right then that I couldn't rule anything out when it came to Draco Malfoy, Madame Rosemerta's thoughts included.

**END CHP 11**

Well, what's done is done, and even though I despised this chapter, at least it's over. Now the REAL fun can begin next chapter….

Oh, in case you're curious, I think there's approximately 3 chapters left. I thought I was going to combine the next chapter with this one, but that didn't happen. Whether that is good or bad, I'm not really sure. Please R and R!


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **Hello, everyone! I'm terribly sorry I took so long on this installment; I've been really preoccupied with school starting up once again in addition to working on college applications and sustaining my job. I don't know what to tell you about this chapter, except that it's a bit more serious then most; there's quite a bit of character development. I hope you enjoy!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 12**

Ah, dinnertime. That glorious hour during the day when one is able to indulge in some of the most glorious things known to man, wizard and muggle alike. It's no secret that I love food. Mum always tells me that she knew I loved to eat the day I tried to swallow Bill's wand. I don't argue with her really, for I feel no shame in admitting it. Fred and George on the other hand, find it quite hilarious to point out that I should be obese, what with the amount of food I eat. Now _that _statement I tend to argue with, for I get plenty of exercise from playing Quidditch and the like. Still, I have to admit that they raise a fair point. I wasn't in any hurry to find out what I would look like if I didn't keep up with my fitness.

Combine aforementioned adoration of food with my positively ravenous, food-deprived being, and you'd be close to imagining how I was feeling at the moment.

I was a bit hungry.

When I finally managed to hobble up the stairs—my leg was still feeling a bit odd, and the numbness that had been present since I had woken up still hadn't finished its vicious pilgrimage to turn my muscles into an achy knot of torture—and smelled the aftermath of the combined efforts of Rosmerta and myself, I was able to temporarily escape from the embarrassing outcome of that most recent display of idiocy in front of Draco, and for that I was happy. _Very _happy.

I was so caught up in my excitement that I didn't realize I was plodding through the hallways at a ridiculously fast pace, and I failed to care when I barely managed to hear Draco mutter something about Weasleys acting like they'd never eaten a dinner before.

I stepped into the pub light, and couldn't help the somewhat embarrassing smile of relief from spreading across my face as the magnificent smell led me towards three very large pots of delectable looking food. Madame Rosmerta looked up as we entered, a large serving spoon in one hand and an oven mitt in the other.

"Ginny, I'm pleased to inform you that we've appeared to be successful. Help yourselves, then." She set down the serving spoon and moved aside to reveal a small stack of plates and a water pitcher complete with glasses.

I greedily snatched up a plate and attempted to send her a grateful smile, but her attention was directed towards something behind me. I turned, following her narrowed eyes in confusion, to see Draco picking up a plate uninterestedly, completely unaware of her prying eyes.

I blinked in what I could tell—to my distaste—was an owlish manner, as up until that moment, I had nearly forgotten Draco was even behind me. Figuring it would be best to turn around _before _he noticed my no doubt creepy stare, I did so, deciding that he would be significantly less disturbed if only _half _of the women in the room were staring at him—not counting that odd looking bloke across the room. I spooned a large heap of potatoes onto my plate, smiling to myself at the thought of that creepy old fogy getting fresh with Malfoy. Ah, the look of revulsion on his face would be sinfully satisfying.

An equally large helping of pot roast followed the potatoes, and I was delighted to find that Rosmerta had managed to come up with a simple gravy in my absence. Under her watchful eye I couldn't shake the guilt that began to wash over me at the prospect of not taking any carrots, and I begrudgingly speared a few onto my plate. The pile of food now looked high enough to fill my stomach, which I was fairly certain had begun eating _itself_ it hurt so badly, and I glanced around the room for a spot to dine. Although, dine was probably much too sophisticated of a word for what I planned to do with my food. Inhale sounded more accurate.

There were four tables set up in the room, all of them small, accommodating only two people at most. An elderly couple sat at one, quietly eating amongst themselves. Another was occupied by the chap who had given Draco the once over (multiple times, I might add), and a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard. The latter didn't look up as I stepped into the room, and the prior kept sending Draco, whom to my knowledge was still at the counter behind me, furtive glances. I began to fear for his safety when the man smiled eerily in his direction, and I cleared my throat loudly, catching his attention. I raised an eyebrow when he met my gaze, and he turned his blushing face back to his dinner plate. I didn't need _any_ competition, old fogy or no.

Rosmerta sat at the table distant from the fireplace, gazing pensively out the window at the swirling white blaze. The final table was stationed adjacent to the fire in the center of the room like the first two, though each table was placed on one side of the blaze so as to allow some privacy and easy access to its warmth. I took a seat in one of the two empty chairs. It felt quite lovely to sit down, and my leg welcomed the relief.

I sighed gratefully as I glanced down at my full plate, and picked up my silverware eagerly. A familiar tingle shot up my spine then, and I caught a glimpse of gray and white as the presence I knew all too well walked passed.

"Starting without me? Hardly good table manners," he chastised as he turned to take the seat opposite me. I watched—okay, okay…who am I kidding? _stared—_as he placed his plate on the table and easily fell into the wooden chair. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and it dropped even further into his eyes as he scooted his seat forward. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his pale skin was slightly flushed from the proximity to the fire. I took another grateful sigh, though this one was for an entirely different reason than the first. The infamously perverted portion of my brain wondered loudly if I was hungry for something other than what was on my plate, because it didn't think my food would quite satisfy.

For once, I didn't try to silence the bothersome pest, for it did indeed have a point, and to my knowledge there was really no benefit to living in denial. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to allow the episode to pass. I hadn't really noticed I had started calling them such, and at first I wasn't sure I was too fond of the label—it made me sound like I was a bleeding psychopath—though I quickly realized that the name actually made sense. Besides, I was fairly certain I had gone crazy long ago, so what did I have to lose?

Luckily for me, the inhalation allowed for a flavorful whiff of food to soothe my senses, effectively distracting me from my earlier…er…hunger.

When I reopened my eyes, Draco was placing his napkin on his lap. I glanced at my own napkin, which was lumped pathetically against the edge of my plate, suddenly feeling inferior. I decided to follow suite, and mimicked his action.

"I hope you like steak and potatoes. It might be a little plain for you. Don't you normally live off of escargot or something?" I asked blandly as he took his first bite. He smiled, oddly enough taking a moment before he responded, and I realized it was because he refused to talk with his mouth full. At first I was a bit surprised by his etiquette, but that was quickly replaced with admiration. I smiled softly as I recalled a particular moment at the Burrow involving a spaghetti slurping contest, and realized he probably had better manners than I did.

"Honestly Ginny, who _doesn't_? These are staple foods. And actually, I'm quite fond of escargot." He raised both eyebrows once, smiling slightly as he took another bite.

"Why am I not surprised?" I asked rhetorically, stuffing a forkful of potato into my mouth with newfound precaution.

"I actually don't have an answer to that. I would think it painfully obvious that I have good taste." He bowed his head nonchalantly to take a bite of food, but I didn't miss the small, lopsided grin the action was meant to conceal, nor the fluttering in my chest that ensued when it was noticed. Damned prick was going to give me a heart attack.

"Good? Correct me if I'm wrong, but many people find escargot detestable. How, exactly, would one consider liking them to be of _good _taste?"

"It's a very refined delicacy. It requires something of an _acquired_ taste, and I've been eating it since I was three." He shrugged. I narrowed me eyes at the strange bit of information. Who in the name of all that is holy would feed their three-year-old child snails? I felt a bubble of laughter burst in my chest, and I couldn't contain myself when the feeling began to spread at the image the thought had spawned.

Draco narrowed his own eyes, his face suddenly serious.

"_What _is so funny?" I took a breath between fits.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just—Well what I mean is, who in their right—_why_?"

"Why _what_?" I raised an eyebrow at him, slouching back slightly in my seat out of exasperation.

"Okay, let me put it this way: When _I _was three, my mom fed me applesauce and crackers. Maybe plain pasta noodles. For some reason, I don't think many children would take kindly to their mother saying, 'Come now, Draco, eat your snails!' It's just not in the average toddlers' diet, you see. Unnatural, is all." I grinned at him bemusedly then, as if to reiterate the fact that he was abnormal.

His brow was furrowed as if confused by the point I was trying to make, and he blinked several times before responding¸ which was evidently only a slight scowl.

"Never mind…" I waved a hand at him, and resumed battling with my steak, which was giving me a sufficient amount of trouble now that I was trying to eat it politely. I took a moment to glare at Draco's plate, which held delicately sliced, even pieces of meat. My stomach was beginning to feel more at ease now that it wasn't beyond empty, and I subconsciously reached for a glass to wash down my latest swallow. I was a bit perplexed when my hand found nothing but air until I realized I had never grabbed a glass of water in the first place. So it goes. A quick evaluation supplied that Draco too was without beverage. I rose immediately, without thinking.

He didn't look up when I moved to leave, and I tried to tell myself that meant nothing, and that I was sure he really _was_ curious as to why I was abandoning him without explanation. Tried, of course, being the key word. It basically accomplished nothing. I'll admit it: the boy makes me feel like a failure.

Midway to the counter (and the water pitcher), I felt another tingle shoot up my back. I bit my lip and wrapped an arm around myself as I walked, reminded eerily of the feeling in McGonagall's office when he had first entered. I clung to the handle of the pitcher desperately, attempting to ignore my shaking hand and the urge to whip around and see if he _was_ looking at me. I filled two of the tumblers and turned around, wondering just when my stupid little adoration had turned me into a spineless idiot.

He was looking at me.

My reaction was instantaneous and unavoidable: my knees buckled.

Both glasses almost slipped from my hands, and a little water sloshed over the rim and down the side of one. I scowled inwardly at the weak joints, especially the healthy one, seeing as it had no excuses for failing me when it was needed, which it very much was, given the state of it's companion. Gratefully I didn't make a complete buffoon of myself by allowing myself or the glasses to fall to the floor. No, instead I played it suave by acting like I simply had to shift the glasses up in my hands because they were slippery. It was convincing. Sort of.

I returned his stare the rest of the short—thank the gods!—way back to the table. I set his glass down with a soft thunk, and took my seat.

He was _still _looking at me.

"What?" I asked. I was half expecting him to say something to the effect of, 'Are you mad? Malfoy's don't drink something as commonplace as water.'

"You didn't need to do that." He cast a glance to the tumbler I had set in front of him. I sighed. Normally such a comment would have upset me—for once again I had no clue what he meant by it—but I simply wasn't in the mood to try to analyze anything more complicated for the remainder of the day other than the glorious feel of food in my belly and how my own bed sheets would feel against my skin once back in my dorm. So I took the easy way out.

"I know," I simply shrugged, and took a long drink, barely able to see the top of his unmoving form over the rim of my glass.

"Well, tha-"

"Ginny, Draco," a voice cut in. I could have screamed. Unless I was very much mistaken, I had almost earned a thank-you from Draco sodding Malfoy. That's not very common, you know. Hell, most people didn't even think he knew word, Draco himself included. You understand, then, why I was a little edgy. I turned crazed eyes on the speaker, who turned out to be Rosmerta. I shouldn't have been surprised by this; I mean really, who else would it have been? Like I said before, I had long since gone crazy.

"Yes?" Draco was watching her with a concentrated gaze. I was glad he spoke, for I was worried if I attempted to do so I might start yelling incoherently about blond boys and thank-you's.

The look on her face caught me off-guard, and my sanity returned quickly as I noticed the foreign expression.

"Professor McGonagall wrote me just a moment ago via owl." She shifted her gaze between the two of us and clasped her hands in front of her chest.

"Why? I mean, why did she contact you?" I blurted out, honestly confused. Hadn't McGonagall already contacted Rosmerta about our detention? Why would she need to do so again? The woman wasn't _that _uptight; it seemed liked overkill.

Rosmerta raised her eyebrows and drew in a breath.

"There seems to be a bit of a situation." I didn't like the sound of that.

"What _kind _of situation, Madam?" Draco drawled impatiently. I looked from Draco to Rosmerta and nodded my assent at his question. I probably looked ridiculous doing this, but I was too confused to care.

"Kids, there's five feet of snow on the ground. The pathway you shoveled earlier…well, it…it really doesn't even exist anymore. There's simply no way you can walk through the snow, and it's getting dark outside as well…" she turned momentarily to look out the window. I clenched my tumbler tighter. My leg began to ache worse at the prospect of battling the icy snow all the way back to Hogwarts.

"The wind chill is well below zero, and it's not letting up." She paused to look at each of us meaningfully. I felt my throat go dry, and took a large gulp of water. "You won't be able to return to school tonight."

My throat clenched irregularly and I choked on my water—to execute a thing of such irrefutable gracelessness takes skill, let me say. I coughed uncontrollably, and I wasn't even able to bow my head in embarrassment from Draco, for that made things much worse. I was forced to cough into my napkin while simultaneously destroy any hopes of having even slightly reputable table manners. So it goes.

This time Draco did not save me by speaking for the both of us. After I was able to take some oxygen into my being, I looked over at him hesitantly, preparing for a look of supreme horror. At first glance he appeared almost normal. It took me a few minutes to realize what was off; he wasn't blinking. The bloke seemed a bit effected, to say the least, and not in a good way. My stomach dropped dejectedly as I realized this shouldn't come as a surprise. What had I been expecting?

"Can't we apparate back?" I asked in a scratchy voice. Rosmerta shook her head, smiling sympathetically.

"I'm afraid not," she answered vaguely. I raised an eyebrow.

"Hogsmeade is the closest apparation point to Hogwarts. We _could _apparate, but it'd only gain us a matter of yards," Draco suddenly interjected, breaking his statuesque form. He refused to meet my eyes when I turned to look at him, his pewter ones focused intently on the flames behind Rosmerta. The light and shadow cast from the blaze danced across his face, illuminating his features in a most entrancing manner.

"Can't they remove the barriers?" I asked, hoping he would be the one to answer me. I couldn't yet tell if he was upset or not, and it was bothering me. I liked to know how people were feeling. Perhaps that's part of the reason I found Draco Malfoy so intriguing. His layers of complexity never ceased to amaze, yet I could've sworn I was on the brink of discovering a pattern to the madness.

"Not for something as inconsequential as this, I'm afraid," Rosmerta responded. Draco arched an eyebrow at this and he let out a sardonic laugh.

"Oh, of course not. It's just a matter of whether or not two students are safely in the school. Nothing severe," he sneered sarcastically. I was momentarily shocked by his bitterness. Up until that point, he had yet to show me hardly any of his usual Malfoy façade. Why in the name of Merlin was he suddenly going haywire? We weren't in any _real_ danger, after all. He had no right to take it out on Rosmerta.

"Draco, it's not like we're not safe here," I pointed out firmly. I glanced at Rosmerta, whose demeanor had stiffened slightly at his outburst. She met my gaze meaningfully.

"She's right, you know. You can spend the night in the spare room downstairs and the two of you will be on your way in the morning."

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect as she had intended. Draco sneered again, shaking his head.

"You mean she has to share a room with _me_?" One of his eyebrows was arched high, and his top lip was curled slightly. Had he not said the statement in such a manner, I would have been very offended. Instead, of course, I was speechless. That's only happened a handful of times, people, so I was a bit concerned I was losing my ability to use my motor skills. After a moment, I began wondering if I had imagined him saying that, when Rosmerta spoke.

"Well, yes, she does. I imagine she'd be more comfortable with you than me." Draco growled under his breath and dropped his napkin onto the table. He rose hurriedly and stalked off, leaving me with an odd sort of hole in my chest.

Of all the incomprehensible moments that had passed today, this one took the cake. I hadn't so much as a spec of any idea as to why he had reacted the way he had. Did he honestly think I protested against being in the same room as him? That clearly didn't make sense; I had just had dinner with the idiot. Perhaps he hadn't meant to say the words in such a manner, and had really meant that _he _didn't want to be stuck with _me_? That seemed more logical, but only just, for very nearly the same reason I had just mentioned. Besides, like I said before, nearly the entire day had gone on rather…well, not magnificently, but I at least, had felt like we had formed a certain kind of bond. I shook my head and swallowed the lump that was gathering in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to look at Rosmerta, and the prospect of sitting in front of the fire with only my thoughts as companions was unbearable. I didn't like the way they were going.

I rose, piling Draco's empty plate on top of my own, and gathered the scattered silverware and napkins. My hands were shaking and I felt like an idiot for it, but that didn't stop the tremors.

"Ginny, what are you doing?" Rosmerta's voice came quietly. I let out a mirthless laugh. What _was _I doing? I couldn't answer that question. I didn't know. I consider myself a strong person. I can roll with the punches. I can take a few in the face. But I didn't know how many times I could let it happen before I finally broke down. I barely remembered the scene outside when I had mentally deteriorated in front of him, and I was distinctly under the impression that only rest and nutrition was keeping me from doing the same again.

"Just clearing the table. I'm going to go wash these up if you don't mind. Is the kitchen just through the back?" I didn't look up when I spoke, and my voice sounded distant and funny to my ears.

"Yes, I do mind, and yes, it is." I nodded to myself, and hurried off with the pile of dishes at an unnatural pace, making sure not to look across the pub.

I pushed through a swinging wooden door and dropped the dishes onto a steel counter with a clank. I slammed a topper into the sink and turned the faucet to a scalding hot temperature. The steam curled up thickly and I splashed a large amount of dish soap into the raging water. I stuck my hand in and swished it around vigorously, grateful for the distraction the pain provided. I set the dishes on the bottom of the sink with a clatter, and barely heard the door swing open over the rushing foam. I took a deep breath, and listened to the sound of the hissing water; it had always soothed me in the past.

"What's going on, Ginny?" Rosmerta asked, taking a place at the sink next to me. I placed a freshly scrubbed plate in her sink and she turned on her faucet to start rinsing.

"What's the point?" I wondered aloud. I felt a need to speak, as if I'd eat myself from the inside out if I left anything inside.

"Don't be ridiculous. There's always a point. I'm willing to bet you know what it is, too."

"Not really. Not anymore. I don't understand why I try," I bit out, unable to hold back a bitter laugh. "Denial is a remarkable thing."

"I think you know the answer to that, too." My frustration mounted at her unbroken calm.

"Look I don't—ugh, that's not what I mean!" I cried. I knew why I tried, alright. I just didn't understand why I persisted when the situation was completely futile.

"What _is_ the problem, then?"

"Why do I care if what you just saw happens over and over? How am I supposed to understand if he doesn't want me to? Why the _hell _does he act the way he does? It's a bloody catch-22: He won't tell me unless I'm close enough, but in order for me to get close he has to share what the hell he's thinking!" I attacked a fork viciously with a sponge and when I felt something suspiciously close to tears burn my eyes I glared hatefully at the foamy mass of metal.

"Ginny, what's the best way to get a straight answer from someone?" I saw her shake out the plate and put it on a towel out of the corner of my eye.

"Fuck if I know. Hasn't been going too well, in case you hadn't noticed." I didn't even care that I swore in front of her, and that fact alone made me dangerously aware of just how close to hysterical I was once again.

"Ask a straight question. Stop trying to figure out what he's thinking on your own and let him tell you." She responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, either pointedly ignoring or simply apathetic towards my language.

"Oh right, right. Because I know it'd be number one on his to do list to just come up to me and tell all," I growled, hoping to achieve half of the deadly sarcasm _he _was capable of unleashing.

"No, but I can tell you right now that the boy doesn't need to be analyzed."

"I wasn't analyzing!" Much.

"Codswallop. He just needs you to give him a match to light his candle." I threw another set of silverware into her sink.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Has he shared anything personal with you before?" Rosmerta inquired nonchalantly. I shot her a discreet look and got the distinct impression that she knew the answer already.

I thought on it for a moment. Draco, telling me about honesty. Draco, telling me he didn't believe in karma. Draco, telling me about his fate. Draco, and his facial expression when he had thought I was afraid of him. Draco, and the look in his eyes when he talked about his father.

I stopped dishwashing.

"Hardly," I choked, eyes burning again, though this time for a different reason.

"Now what exactly did you do that made him share that with you?" Her words brought back my feeling of hopelessness once again. I didn't know, and that's what bothered me.

"Nothing! We were just talking and it sort of—I don't know, happened."

"Huh."

"Huh _what_?"

"You were 'just talking'…."

"_Yes_! Just talking!" I saw no reason why the concept was so hard for her to grasp.

"So what you're saying is that when you were 'just talking' about nothing in particular, these things just naturally came up in conversation?"

"Basically. I didn't really do anything to—"

And that was it. She had me. The realization rained down on me slowly at first, and then overtook me in a rush, washing away my bitterness and anger to leave me with simple concern for the boy in question.

Had I learned nothing from being around him all day? I felt foolish and idiotic and completely useless as I realized that I had completely disregarded everything I had promised myself. I knew he wouldn't be easy to understand. I knew I probably wouldn't be capable _or _allowed to understand him. But I'm a patient person, and I had wanted to know him anyway. I had promised myself I wouldn't judge him. I just needed reminding.

And a bit of reassurance. I had done something right without realizing it. I had won, and I hadn't even known. That felt good. Well, mostly, anyway. I'd be lying if I tried to tell you that a part of me didn't feel like a complete moron for not noticing this earlier.

I sighed heavily, letting a glass fall into the sink. Quite frankly, I didn't know what to do. Now that I had all this newly acquired information, what was I supposed to do with it? Just go out there and act natural? Wait for him to cool down? I snorted. No, no, avoiding it would get me nowhere. Plus, to be honest, I wanted to know what the bleeding hell was bothering the sod. So I needed to talk to him. Fine. I could live with that. _Doing _it was the problem, you see.

I turned to Rosmerta pleadingly, feeling somewhat dazed, as if I was lost in my own thoughts. _Guide me, woman!_

She did nothing of the sort, and instead simply continued rinsing the dishes with her ever-present tranquility, not paying me the slightest bit of attention. I was considering melting into a blubbery puddle on the floor and begging her for wisdom when she spoke.

"There's a pot of hot chocolate warming on the stove. Perhaps Draco would like some."

There was a moment in which I thought she had gone mental before my mind made the connection between her words and the relevance to my problem.

Finding no words sufficient to express my gratitude—I knew this because I opened and closed my mouth several times—I simply nodded. I felt sort of guilty with the feeble show of thanks, but Rosmerta didn't seem to care. She didn't even look up at me after she answered, and a small smile graced her features as I walked with renewed perseverance to the steaming pot warming on the stove.

**END CHP 12**

I apologize for the long wait again, and would like to thank everyone who had the patience to stick with me through to this chapter. I'm going to try my best to get the next one out much sooner. I think there's about 2-3 chapters left, with a possible epilogue. Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **Well, I've been writing like crazy, and I think I finally managed to come up with a satisfactory chapter. Sorry about the wait, but I did the best I could. I hope you enjoy!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 13**

I think if you stare at anything long enough you begin to hallucinate. After so long, your mind begins to envision that which is currently occupying it and you see things. At least, that's what I was hoping. Otherwise I had no logical reason to explain why the smoke kept twisting around like strands of white-blond hair, or why the creamy white of the milk looked like pale skin against the gray interior of the pot. Well, there was one other reason I could think of, but I was _really _hoping I wasn't schizophrenic. I had already come to terms with the fact that I was crazy—either _because_ of or _for_ Draco Malfoy. I could live with that, probably because I realized it was unavoidable. I went crazy without him and I lost my sense of reality around him—this much I knew. I just didn't want to start seeing things. It wouldn't do to have me imagining Draco everywhere, people, for reasons that I should think exceedingly obvious by now.

The insanity I could live with, but the hallucinations would be the end of me. For some reason, the prospect of not being able to discern fact from fiction wasn't too comforting. I took a moment to wish hopefully that this would never be a problem in my life.

What can I say? Clearly I have high aspirations for my future.

I absently stirred the added milk in with the piping hot chocolate, ripping my eyes away from the mixture to stare at the thick mugs lined up along the counter. My stomach was churning in slight resemblance to the liquid as I considered how the night was unfolding, but I wasn't nervous. Not really.

There's something about me—something I don't really know how to explain, actually. If I have to do something nerve-racking, I avoid dwelling on the action at all costs, because it only seems to make the anxiety worse. The best way I know how to explain it is this: jumping into cold water is much easier for me than slowly wading in. I don't really know why, but for some reason I find it much easier just to go out and do whatever needs to be done, because my brain often makes things sound a lot worse than they really are. It's like it works against me, I swear it. I, however, with this method, have found a way to beat the system! It's true, sometimes it really doesn't work, but it certainly does work some others.

The only issue was, of course, that this might be one of the times that my method _didn't _work. I was trying to ignore that possibility, however, as I ladled the steaming chocolate into two large mugs. I intently concentrated my focus on adding a small amount of whipping cream and marshmallows to each instead, and before I knew it I was picking up the mugs and walking towards the door to the dining room. Rosmerta didn't look up as I passed her.

The orange glow of room was much the same as it had been a quarter of an hour ago. The elderly couple was apparently deep in conversation, for they didn't look up as I stepped into the room. Scruffy Beard Man and Old Fogy were equally engrossed in a game of wizard's chess, and neither paid me the slightest heed as my eyes passed over each of them. Finally, my eyes settled upon the table where Draco and I had sat. It was still vacant, of course, but my gaze slowly traced the path he had taken earlier, and I was rewarded with discovering the subject of my search.

He stood, statuesque, before one of the few large windows. His forearm was braced against the glass and he rested his forehead against it, hand balled into a fist. The thumb of the opposite hand was hooked loosely in one of the belt loops on his trousers, causing his hip to cock to the side ever so slightly. For a moment, I almost thought just seeing him would be enough to make everything alright, for during the moment following, a vague thought that sounded something like, 'Oh yeah, so _that's _why I try so hard…' ran across my mind.

After a few more moments of sightseeing, I realized that this lovely God-like monument wasn't getting any closer, and even though it was striking from a distance, its beauty would surely be no less than crippling at a closer proximity. At some point—I wasn't sure which, though I had a good guess—my feet had stopped moving.

Wow.

I remained still for another short instant, wondering pathetically if such a thing was normal. Losing your motor skills from the mere vision of Draco Malfoy, or anyone for that matter, was completely normal. Sure it was. Normal—like growing a third head normal, perhaps.

I'm no expert on the subject, but my immediate reaction was that it was about as close to normal as I was too sane, and I think we all know how farfetched _that _statement is.

I wasn't really surprised by this revelation; I was sadly growing quite accustomed to his strange effects on me. In fact, I was downright preparing for the moment my brain went kaput altogether. I started walking then, as a means of preventing this from occurring prematurely. Hey, might as well utilize the thing while it was still running, you know?

My whole body seemed to relax as I drew near him, his breath rhythmically fogging up the glass windowpane. Remember that analogy I gave you earlier about nerves and cold water? Well once I was directly behind him, I jumped headfirst, without thinking and devoid of preparation.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I asked, meeting the reflection of his eyes in the glass. "It almost looks like a snow globe." A snow globe? A _snow globe_? This was supposed to be a natural conversation, and I bring up a bloody snow globe?! Like I said, headfirst.

He laughed softly, causing a steamy circle to appear on the glass.

"Yeah, the snow globe from hell." Apparently his mood hadn't passed. My mouth found it fit to remedy that with more meaningless chatter.

"I used to think it was romantic. I'm trying not to let this one bad experience ruin my preconception." I was somewhat shocked such words had emerged without my conscious thoughts to guide them, and I begrudgingly admitted to myself that my subconscious wasn't _always _loud, outspoken and entirely idiotic.

Draco turned around to face me with heavy, weighted eyes. I had to restrain myself from physically reaching over to lift whatever burden he was carrying off of his shoulders. Not only would he realize I was borderline psychotic if I did this, but the process _probably _wouldn't be all in all too graceful with two mugs of cocoa in my hands. My subconscious mentioned that a chocolate-covered Draco wouldn't be _entirely _bad, but I silenced it by revoking my earlier compliment; the thing was completely useless after all.

"I hope you like marshmallows," I said, indicating the cups in each of my hands. The words caused a slightly devilish grin to spread across his face.

"Been cooking again, have you? I'll try it for your sake, only because dinner wasn't half bad." I returned his grin, a part of me now warmed by the fact that he was acting a bit more like his normal self. I made a mental note to thank Rosmerta again, perhaps a dozen times or so, for the icebreaker. Then maybe I'd send her some flowers.

"Well if you _really _don't fancy them, I suppose I'll just have to drink both for myself…" I shrugged, moving to turn around, stomach fluttering as his eyes flashed. Have I mentioned I love it when that happens?

Then, like lightning, a cool hand was wrapped around my wrist and grey eyes were holding mine in their iron grip. I felt my smirk slide off of my face.

"Don't be daft, Weasley. I couldn't possibly let you drink both. Think of what it would do to your figure." I meant to glare sinisterly at him for that one, but the twisted almost-smile and the feel of his fingers on my skin seemed to drain away any anger. His fingers—now that subject in itself could have occupied me for hours. The second they made contact with my wrist I knew I wanted to memorize the feeling. Unfortunately for me it was over before it started, and I barely had the chance to adjust to the sensation before it was gone completely. Not surprising in its entirety, is it? I managed to redirect my attentions as his fingers grasped the mug.

"Meh, I'd work it off eventually," I responded, relinquishing my hold on the hot beverage. I watched with acute fascination as he took a long sip. His eyelids drifted slightly closed, and the firelight caused a glowing halo to radiate off of his feathery hair. I laughed at that last one. If Draco was an angel, we lowly humans sure as hell wouldn't be receiving much mercy anytime soon.

"How's it ta-aste?" My words hitched as his tongue passed over now cream-covered lips. Oh bleeding _wonderful, _Ginny. You sound like you're going through puberty. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Not bad. Though, it is rather hard to mess up hot chocolate, isn't it?" he baited, sending me an arrogant smile. I tried my best to stay conscious. Passing out because he licked his lips probably wouldn't look too natural, which is what I was going for.

"If you really meant what you said earlier about honesty, it'd be safe to assume that wasn't supposed to be an insult," I retorted. His lips twitched again.

"You're catching on. Points for that memory of yours, _Ginny_," Draco raised an eyebrow and tapped his temple with two fingers. I couldn't be sure, but it sounded to me like the bloke was implying that I wasn't the only one who had remembered things from earlier today. I distinctly recalled telling him that I preferred Ginny to my many other abundant nicknames, and from what I had seen of Draco's intellect, I doubted his use of it had been even remotely coincidental.

Still, my subconscious thought the possibility of me forgetting something about him was a hilarious concept. As if I could ever possibly do so even if I tried. See what I mean about my brain working against me? You know you're pathetic when part of your mind makes fun of itself. And just for the record, for those of you who don't think such a thing is possible, I've news for you: it is. If you stilldon't believe me, I encourage you to go out and find a bloke who does to you what this idiot manages to do to me, and _then _we'll talk. If nothing happens, it means one of two things.

You don't like men.

You were lucky enough to discover the secret to life, in which case you need not only speak to me, but to every other female entity on the planet.

"Seems you're a fast learner yourself," I said, watching as one hand stowed itself in the pocket of his trousers. He lifted and dropped one shoulder.

"Depends on the subject."

I choked on a marshmallow. There was no way he could have just said that. Now I was hearingthings too? I had to be—though I wished I _hadn't _imagined it. I didn't know which was worse, the fact that I was hearing things, or that fact that I _wanted _to hear things. Fan-bloody-tastic.

In a last act of desperation, I decided to double check.

"Sorry?" I asked, half expecting him to look at me like I was raving mad.

"It's really not that complicated of a concept, Weasley," Draco drawled impatiently. "I'm only a fast learner when it comes to things that _aren't_ dreadfully boring, and in this day and age, such things are few and far between." He turned his gaze back to the white haze outside the window.

Something inside my chest lit on fire. It was a feeling I wasn't accustomed to, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant, though I wasn't sure how else to describe it. The only other thing I knew was that it was completely and utterly consuming.

I couldn't speak. Not a word. I was on fire.

Draco looked over at me after a few moments, and I….well, I wasn't doing much of anything at the time. I was a bit worried that he would take my silence the wrong way, but I still couldn't bring myself to say a single thing; the heat in my chest was too distracting.

I should have known, however, that with an ego the size of his coupled with the fact that he was quite an intelligent young man, he would be able to piece together why I was incapable of speech at the present time. One side of his mouth barely turned upwards, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. For once, his arrogance had actually seemed to serve a purpose!

"So you really think being trapped in hell is romantic, do you?" he asked, taking a drink out of his mug and moving to lean one shoulder against the window. His ankles crossed almost systematically. As if he wasn't attractive enough _without _the bloody posing. I was grateful to find that my voice had returned when I opened my mouth to respond.

"How can something that looks like that be hell?" I wondered, looking out at the shining mounds of snow. He chuckled once.

"You may be on to something, there. I was thinking _this_," he looked around the pub, "was a bit more evil-centered, anyhow."

"And I still don't know why," I muttered, before I could stop myself. He sighed heavily. When I turned to look at him, his eyes immediately grasped me, all seriousness.

"Weasley, let me ask you a question." It was more of a command than a plea.

"Alright." The look in his eyes told me he wouldn't have really cared if I'd said no.

"Would you rather be here drinking hot chocolate with my Slytherin arse, or at home, all nice and cozy in Gryffindor Tower?"

_Gee, _I _don't know! _

"Here," I answered evenly. His face turned incredulous, his tone sharp.

"_What?_"

"Here," I repeated. He shook his head in what I assumed was frustration.

"I heard you the first time, Ginny, I just am having trouble understand the bloody hell _why_." I shrugged.

"Okay, in all honesty I'm probably going to miss sleeping in my own bed tonight. But aside from that, not much else, save for maybe a shower. I look only a fair side better than hideous," I muttered, self-consciously running a hand through my hair at the memory of my reflection in the mirror earlier.

"I don't believe you, Weasley. What are you trying to prove?" That you're underestimated. That I think you're breathtaking. That you drive me crazy in more ways than I can count. That your character is misjudged. That people don't know you. That you can trust me. That I care.

"Nothing. Just being honest." Okay, 'nothing' works too.

The anger in his gaze seemed to vanish with my words but his countenance remained distrustful. He looked at me long and hard then, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. After what seemed like an eternity, he swallowed and looked away with narrowed eyes.

"Assuming you are, I still don't understand." I had never really expected him to say those words, and they caught me a little off guard.

"Don't understand what, Draco?" He turned to look at me again.

"Why." The question would have been downright humorous if not for the trepidation and doubt lurking in his eyes. I felt the same twisting in my gut I had experienced when he had talked to me about his father. I wanted to warp my arms around his waist and cry for him, but I knew better than to think he wanted such things.

"You're thinking about this far too much," I told him cautiously. He let out a breath of air, possibly a laugh, though it was not the joyful sort.

"I do that," he responded with the slight arch of an eyebrow. I smiled slightly, though I tried not to. The thought of Draco analyzing and fretting over something was sort of endearing.

"Is it really that hard to believe? It shouldn't be."

"Was that rhetorical?"

"No."

"Then frankly, yes, it is."

"Why?!" I exclaimed. He let out another exasperated sigh.

"Ginny, look at who you're talking to. People like you wouldn't be caught dead with the likes of—"

"_Don't_." I snapped, suddenly angry.

"Don't what?"

"Categorize me like that. For God's sake, I'm a person, not some mindless member of Slytherin Haters Anonymous."

"No, of _course _not!" Draco sneered, and I easily detected the bitterness in his sarcasm this time. "Just every other sodding member of your family is, that's all." I was silent for a moment, frozen by the icy cold of his mistrust. I swallowed the sharp needles of his suspicion and forced myself to speak.

"You know what my brother said this morning?" I expected no response, nor did I receive one save for a sideways glance. "He said that I think differently than the rest of them—that I can't judge people's characters, and that I'm too trusting, or some such nonsense. And you know, I actually agree with the idiot. I _don't_ think the same way about things—people, trust, right and wrong," I took a shaky breath, "you." His head snapped around to mine. I squeezed the handle on my mug tighter, turning my knuckles as white as the snow just through the window. "And I'm—well, I'm glad I don't."

There was a pause, which was to be expected. I had taken a gamble—not something I normally do, seeing as I've shit for luck, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

"Then it's not hell for me either."

And then it all became clear—the outburst after dinner, why he had gotten upset about being here, the mistrust, the questions, hell, all of it. It all fit. My cocoa mug was gripped painfully tight in my hand, but I didn't even notice. Draco had thought that I wouldn't want to be close to him. He had thought I would be uncomfortable with the situation, and that had upset him. The boy had thought that _I_, Ginny Weasley, hopeless and completely irrational—all because of _him _I might add— would be in hell in his presence, thus putting him in hell. He had been in pain because he thought I would be. It was all so complex it was ridiculous, but it slammed together in my head with such speed it was nearly staggering.

I couldn't really form a coherent thought, but for once that was okay, because at that moment, I felt the raging fire in my chest take over completely. There was no going back. I was gone.

**END CHP 13**

Wow, so did that even make any coherent sense? I'm hoping so……leave me a review and let me know, will you?


	15. Chapter 15

I'm sorry this one took so long, everyone! 

I'm super, SUPER angry right now. This website is once again having problems. Not only would it not allow me to upload any documents into my manager, but I can't email the support admin to ask them to look into the problem. The only reason I figured out how to update this is because I read Heart's Cadence's AN at the beginning of her new chapter and found that she's having the same problem.

Does ANYONE know what's going on?! Please inform me if you do!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this—it was great fun to write!

**THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 14**

I'm horrible at some things and I have absolutely no problem admitting it. And let me tell you, playing chess is right up there along with tolerating that atrocious monstrosity of a noise that Muggles call rap; such things should not have to be endured by the everyday witch. Ron, an avid chess player and occasional listener of rap, gave up on teaching me how to play when I was twelve or so when he realized that I used absolutely no strategy whatsoever when playing. To his frustration I still implement this rather ingenious method today, mostly because I don't care about the outcomes of the games, and partly because I find it funny to watch the expressions on my opponents' faces when I move the pieces about in a completely dysfunctional manner.

As you probably gathered from the above statement, I'm not much of an avid player. After all, you can only feign interest with your older brother so many times before you lose your ability to do so, and nobody likes playing with someone who couldn't care less.

Not to mention I was a bit distracted by the fact that I had just discovered that this opponent had some actual interest in me.

I tried explaining all of this to Draco—well, except for the distraction bit. It was completely useless attempting to lie to him anyway. But after we had finished our hot chocolate in relative silence, he had asked me if I wished to play a game with him. Like I said, I had tried to decline, but he had only smirked and told me that I was entirely unconvincing with whipping cream on my nose. After wiping at my face feverishly, I had acquiesced. He had a point, after all. My defenses had been a bit shaky from that point forward, which should be noted as it seemed to have a large impact on later occurrences.

And so, Draco and I were thus seated at our previous dining table with a worn wooden chess set—me with a flushed complexion, and him with an odd sort of smile on his face that I couldn't really place into any given emotional category.

"It's your move, you know," I reminded him. It had been that way for about five minutes now. His eyes continued to flick across the board, and his only response was an ambiguous grunt. I smiled to myself and tried to slow my heart rate; ever since the conclusion of our conversation by the window it had been erratic and frankly kind of frightening.

Things had been kind of cloudy upstairs ever since he revealed that he actually cared about me. True, it wasn't like he had admitted to a ridiculous obsession like the one I held for him, but his words kept floating through my mind.

_"…such things are few and far between."_

Perhaps it was the fact that I hadn't been expecting anything at all that made those words so valuable. Maybe it was because I now had an actual reason to believe that Draco reciprocated my feelings—to an extent, of course. My efforts weren't proving completely useless, like I had feared. Besides, Draco wasn't a particulary loquacious individual; he meant every word he said, and every word he said had a meaning.

On top of that, little snips of conversations from the past couple of hours kept swimming through my head, and they all supported one general theory: Rosmerta was God.

_"Seems to me he was pretty concerned for you."_

_"I can tell you right now that the boy doesn't need to be analyzed."_

_"Ask a straight question. Stop trying to figure out what he's thinking on your own and let him tell you."_

_"There's a pot of hot chocolate warming on the stove. Perhaps Draco would like some."_

You see? You _see_?! In any case, I was still somewhat shocked by just how right she had been. I was considering forming a cult or something in her honor.

Still, even though I had gotten some serious answers, I hadn't gotten all of them. Discovering whether or not he gave a rat's behind about me created new questions—ones that were buzzing in the back of my mind incessantly. Just how much did he care? Was it strictly platonic? Was there even the slightest bit of hope for me, or was I wasting my time completely?

At this point I knew that I couldn't force things with him, but I also knew that he respected me enough to at least give me some answers if I nudged him in the right direction. I glanced up at him then, taking a break from staring at the squares of the chessboard. My subconscious mentioned that the view improved considerably. I had to agree.

He was still absorbed in the game, and his eyes, slightly narrowed, moved about in an incredibly fascinating manner. I admired his concentration, especially when it produced such a glorious look on his face. It managed to slightly distract me from my thoughts for a time, which is noteworthy.

"You really needn't be thinking on it this much. I'm not much of a threatening player, believe you me."

"That's what you _want_ me to think," he informed me without looking up.

"What are you on about?"

"I'm on to your mind game." His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"You mean the one where I give you honest advice?" I asked, raising a sarcastic brow.

"Ah, but therein lies the dilemma; I'd wager there's motive behind that advice."

"If by motive you mean I'm trying to prevent you from wasting your time, you're absolutely right."

"Nonsense. You've a strategy, I'm sure of it. It's only a matter of figuring it out, is all." I laughed at this.

"Draco, I've been trying to tell you—that is precisely why I'm so horrid at chess. I use none. No motives, no strategy."

"Everyone has a motive, Ginny. Whether it subtle or conspicuous, serious or inconsequential, it's there." His tone of voice—a philanthropic and velvety drawl—made me suddenly feel like I knew nothing about anything, and what a glorious feeling that was, let me tell you.

"It's only chess," I responded, slightly disheartened by his suspicion.

"Life is a chessboard." I saw him smile, and my eyes narrowed as I realized he was simply trying to rile me up. The worst of it was he had succeeded.

"Splendid. I'm done for," I mumbled morosely. Draco chuckled. The fire in my chest—oh yes, it was still there, and from what I could tell it wasn't going anywhere _anytime_ soon—cackled delightfully at the sound.

"Not very optimistic about this, are you? You put on a fairly convincing show, I'll give you that much." He reached out and slid a pawn ahead one space.

"It took you that long to move a bloody pawn?" Gray eyes stared back at me blankly. "Never mind…" I said, holding up my hands in surrender. I had no intention of pretending to know anything about strategy. I pushed one of my own pawns forward, simply because I hadn't moved anything on that side of the board in awhile. Draco's lips twisted into a grin.

"You know, if I didn't think that move was part of a strategy, I would call it almost endearing in its naiveté."

"I hate that word, but in this case I think it suits me." Draco's eyes dropped to the pieces once more.

"Hate it, do you? Why's that?"

"Let's just say that it's one of Ron's favorite strings to pull whenever I make a mistake. No, that's inaccurate. He pulls it all the time. Constantly. It fits in with what I told you earlier about that whole 'I think differently' bit."

"So _that's_ why you became so furious with him in the Entrance Hall when he started bellowing like a deranged maniac," he responded, though he didn't sound entirely surprised. He glanced up from the board and looked into space thoughtfully. "What were his exact words? Something about you playing into my hands like some naïve, idiotic sap?"

"More or less," I muttered, letting my chin fall into my open palm. Reliving that less than flattering moment with Draco wasn't exactly the best way to raise spirits. One of his knights took the pawn I had just moved and I failed to care.

"Well I sincerely hope you don't _believe_ the idiot," he stated, his upper lip curling slightly as if repulsed by the very concept.

I smiled a bit and shrugged. "Not usually," I answered slowly, thinking back to after dinner. I had almost thought Ron was right then, though I didn't plan on revealing that to Draco anytime soon. He slammed a hand onto the table causing me to jump.

"Not _usually_? Oh come on, Ginny, we both know that's absolutely mental. I mean it's not your fault your brother's irrational and completely daft!" He seemed to grow angry when I didn't respond, and sighed before evening his tone and rephrasing his words. "Evidently your brother just fails to notice that you're intelligent, quick-witted and observant. A naïve person wouldn't be able to look past their imposed preconceptions and give someone a chance— especially when they never did anything to deserve one. It takes a lot to be true to your self in such circumstances."

Despite the fact that the fire was burning savagely in my chest, I shuddered, partly because he refused to let my eyes stray from his—not like I _wanted_ them to, mind you—and partly because I could tell he was sincere.

"I, uh—" I broke eye contact nervously, "I dunno." I angrily wondered what point my imaginative, subconscious musings served if they did nothing to prepare me for the real thing. Granted, it wasn't like I had actually thought anything like this would ever happen. In fact, I was fairly certain if I _had_ been completely convinced that he had actually just said those words I would have fainted.

"It's your move, you know." He echoed my words from earlier, and I glanced up to see a slightly smug expression on his face. My hand hovered above a few pieces for a short while, and I noticed his eyes slide down to watch my movements. I pushed a rook forward, managing to capture a pawn. His face was impassive as I moved his piece off the board—not something I was used to in a chess opponent seeing as Ron had yet to master that particular aspect of the game.

"I suppose I don't really know for sure or anything," I started, "but it appears that you've had a fair amount of experience with the same sort of thing. I mean, from what you told me about your father, it seems like he puts a lot of pressure on you."

"He does," he answered flatly. The detached, unemotional tone made my stomach twist horrifically.

"How do you deal with it?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I just have to wait for it to pass. I'm used to it, to be honest. It's how things have always been."

I swallowed, and forced myself to ask what next came to mind by remembering what Rosmerta had said in the kitchen about being straightforward.

"Does it….does it ever get really serious?"

"Serious?" He lifted his head seeking clarification, a puzzled expression on his face evident by a quirked brow.

"Yeah," I said quietly. I was taking a risk with the personal question, but at that moment my rationality was a bit distorted by the encouragement of his earlier comments. His eyes softened in understanding after a moment, and I released a breath I hadn't known I had been holding in relief when he didn't become offended.

"Occasionally."

I didn't fail to notice that his jaw had clenched.

I nodded slowly, unsure if I should ask the next question that had come to mind. His eyes flicked to the game board again, but his concentration appeared to be faltering; he didn't appear to be actually looking at the pieces. After a moment he sighed and looked away from the board, as if giving in to some internal struggle. He ran a hand through his platinum hair, and I found the motion downright hypnotic.

"My father is a very impatient man. He can only stand arguing with an uncooperative son for so long before he becomes—" There was a pause, and I noticed that he swallowed with some amount of difficulty before continuing. "—_irritable_."

"And when that happens?" I asked, unaware that my voice had lost a significant amount of its strength before I spoke.

"He either gives up temporarily, which is what I normally rely on, or he doesn't." His voice was strained and bordering on what I was tempted to label emotional. I felt an icy hand wrap around my chest as I watched him, constricting my ribcage achingly in its chilling grasp.

"What," I started, my ability to speak hardly functional, "what does that mean?"

"It—" He sighed again, and turned away in exasperation, running a hand over his face. His eyes flickered back to the chess board then. "It means I just captured your rook."

I vaguely saw him shuffle a few pieces on the board, but I didn't even consider looking away from him to watch more closely. The game now felt even more idiotic then ever, and I suddenly felt foolish for paying it even the slightest bit of attention in the first place when this boy was sitting in front of me.  
Before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and stilled his movements, grasping his hand in my own. I wasn't entirely shocked to find his muscles tense and slightly tremulous, though I wouldn't have known so if I hadn't actually touched him. I marveled at the amount of things he managed to keep hidden from the outside world.

Wide, shocked eyes snapped up to meet mine at the contact. That moment froze for me. The background blended into a curtain of white and I swear I could hear bells ringing somewhere. It was like one of my dreams had become a snow globe.

"I'd listen if you told me," I said. "I just want you to know that."

He remained unchanged, and I waited for awkwardness to seep into the moment and destroy it. It never came.

I reluctantly released his hand, and began to pull away when his large, slender one encased my own. I looked up to find his eyes now intense and hot, like liquid metal. It was all I could do from melting beneath them, and I sucked in an unsteady breath. A slow, easy grin worked its way onto his face and I felt my body go limp; quite suddenly the only thing I was aware of was his touch.

"You have unbelievably small hands. Did you know that?" He asked in a tone I had never heard before. Whether or not that was a good thing I'm not really sure, for although it was deep, smooth and nearly mesmerizing, I felt a thick cloud of what I could only guess was seduction impair my judgment and seize control of my actions with a force that was nearly staggering. I didn't respond to his question, for reasons that I should think exceedingly blatant. I felt his fingertips drag a lazy circle over the back of my hand and my nerves tingled furiously.

"It's odd, though—they have a firm grip for things so delicate." His fingers wrapped around to my palm and effortlessly maneuvered it in such a way so that it was nearly palm to palm with his own, as if he were comparing the two in size. His fingertips danced against mine and began to trace the length of my fingers to my palm. One of them slipped, lacing between my own, and I opened my mouth in an inaudible gasp.

"Your move, Weasley."

I blinked at his words, trying in vain to clear my clouded head. Trying to concentrate on chess under normal circumstances was hard enough, but when he was, well, doing _that_, my efforts were proving completely futile. For Merlin's sake, he might as well have told me to play a game of Quidditch while someone was sawing an arm off. It was more or less the same concept, minus the grotesque imagery.

I groped in a somewhat blind state for any piece—I didn't give a damn which at that point—and fumbled with what felt like a bishop. I pushed it forward what I guessed was a couple of inches, eager to be done with the task.

His grey eyes skimmed the board briefly before the devilish fingers continued down the entire length of my palm, sending freakishly erratic bolts of electricity through my arm. When they dipped below the cuff of my shirt sleeve to skim across the few inches of skin on the underside of my wrist, my nerves completely succumbed to the sensation and I began to tremble almost desperately. I saw the grin widen, and then his eyes flashed back to mine.

"Checkmate, love."

Funny that he should say that right then, isn't it? That, people, is called irony. Oh how appropriate those words were. It was scary, really scary.

His fingertips slid from my skin, leaving my flesh tingling, my mind dazed, and the fire in my chest blazing with life.

"Good match," he remarked, cocking an arrogant eyebrow. "You put up quite the fight for someone who claims to use no strategy."

I swallowed and nodded unevenly as a means of response, feeling exposed under his gaze. My breathing became labored and arduous at the thought of my embarrassing reaction to his touch, and I suddenly needed to be away from his smoldering stare, if only for a minute.

"I'll be just a moment," I mumbled, frantically pushing my chair back and ripping my eyes away from his. My whole body felt flushed, as if every living inch of me had been affected. I walked across the pub to the back hallway as fast as I could without looking absurd, and quickly stowed into the bathroom, bolting the door behind me. I turned my back against the wood and slid down the length of it to sit on the worn floor.

My mind was scattered in every direction possible; some of the things present were logical and some were completely incongruous. Most disturbing of all was that I found myself unable to distinguish between what was my logic talking and what was being suggested by anything else. This was a scary idea considering that normally it was quite simple to determine what thoughts my subconscious was responsible for and what ones it wasn't. Right now, however, it was all one jumbled, disgusting mess of emotions. Still, over all of this chaos, two thoughts kept presenting themselves over the rest.

The first was that I had apparently been using my sense of touch completely incorrectly my entire life, because God knows I had never felt anything like his hands on my skin. It was either that or there was something about _his_ touch specifically that made my nerves go positively barmy. It took a very small fraction of my IQ points to deduce that the latter was far more likely than the prior.

The second was trying to convince myself that he had touched me at all, because if he had, it meant he had done so completely deliberately and completely with reason. I possessed enough foolish romanticism to recognize that the touch had been far more than casual, and needless to say, that thought had me scared silly.

The problem was, of course, that I had never really expected anything to come of any of this. I had _thought_ about it. Hell, it bloody dominated my mind.

All of that fantasizing did nothing in the long run, though, because right now I was scared. I was petrified because unless I was very much mistaken, Draco Malfoy had just tried to seduce me.

For Christ's sake, I could barely _think_ about that without feeling flushed; I could scarcely imagine what a horrible sight I had made when actually living it.

I held my hand up in front of my face and flexed my fingers. He had tried and he had succeeded, damnit, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he knew just that. His words had been far too coincidental, his eyes too wicked with mischief.

_"Checkmate, love."_

I groaned, letting my face fall to rest on my knees. I had lost much more than the chess match, and we both knew it.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, a part of me seemingly terrified, but after several minutes or several years, a revelation slowly worked its way into my thought process. It worked like a drug, relaxing my muscles and slowing my heart rate until the fear no longer boiled through my veins.

I had simply asked myself why I was afraid. When I was unable to come up with a response for the question, I realized that the fear was pretty much unjustifiable. As such, it would be utterly illogical to _act_ afraid if I had no reason to be. I nodded resolutely to myself. So that was that.

All that needed to be done was to ensure that I remembered that for the next time.

The next time? Listen to me—if that's not wishful thinking I don't know what is.

I pulled myself to my feet, trying to pretend that such thoughts had not just flitted through my mind. I ambled to the sink and turned the water to an icy temperature, allowing it to run over my hands and wrists. I splashed my face with the cool liquid, grateful for the sanctuary the small bathroom provided. Considerably more refreshed, I left the room feeling like a weighty burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

As I was preparing to round the corner to the pub, something caught my eye and I stopped short.

Draco was, quite unmistakably, bent over the chessboard intently attempting to arrange the pieces to perfection. Now ladies, correct me if I'm wrong, but is it not incredibly unusual for a male to be overtly organized? Speaking as one who grew up with seven of them, it has been my experience that they are generally the exact opposite, with the exception of the rare few—Percy, anyone?— who are so obsessively neat it's maddening.

Seeing Draco take the liberty to do such a thing was humorous, in an endearing sort of way. I would have never expected to see him exhibit such behavior. I leaned against the door jam, crossing my arms as I considered what an utterly unique sod he was.

"How'd you fair in the match?" a feminine voice queried behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Rosmerta standing nearby.

"I lost, though I wasn't expecting any different."

There was a brief pause, and then she asked in a slightly amused voice, "You've sure picked a handful, haven't you?"

I watched as Draco, having finished with the pieces, brushed invisible lint off of his shirt before turning he steely gaze upon the fire. "I'm afraid so," I responded, unable to refrain from smiling for some idiotic reason.

"Of course, I could be saying the same to him right now."

I quickly shifted my attention to her, but she simply continued to gaze out at Draco thoughtfully. My stomach twisted at the implication of her words.

"You think?" I asked.

She turned to look at me then, one eyebrow raised incredulously. That was answer enough for me. To be honest, I don't know why I had doubted her comment to begin with—I surely had no reason to.

"Okay then," I said.

She smiled slightly, seemingly pleased. "It's getting fairly late, and the two of you have had a long day. I've a shower in my quarters if you fancy taking one."

Under normal circumstances I would have blatantly refused, but given the current state of things, the prospect sounded incredibly enticing. Many of my muscles still ached and my hair felt like a bloody bird's nest. Not to mention I probably smelled a bit peculiar.

"Really? You wouldn't mind?" I asked hopefully.

"Not in the slightest. In fact, I'd be a bit upset if you didn't take one. Call the other over here, will you?"

I turned to look at Draco, whose eyes were still fixed on the blaze. "Pssst! Draco!" I called in more of a harsh whisper than a shout. Though it wasn't excessively loud, I had spent a good deal of time perfecting the tone of voice so that everyone still managed to hear it—a skill I had inherited from my mother, no doubt. His eyes snapped up at the sound and quickly sought out mine. I beckoned him over wildly, and he raised a questioning eyebrow before grinning and shaking his head in amusement at my antics. He stood, pausing to push in his chair with one hand, before pocketing both of them and sauntering over. I watched every step with unmatchable fascination.

"Feeling alright?" Rosmerta asked him as he approached.

"Quite, thank you," he answered, nodding curtly. He turned to me and whispered under his breath, "I suppose it's fruitless to hope that you'll learn how to be a bit more discreet."

"Useless at best," I responded in the same hushed tone. He smiled and turned his attention to Rosmerta, whom had conveniently decided to say something to the rest of the small group in the pub during said comment. She quickly redirected her attention once again, however, and I mentally added another item to the growing list of God-like feats she had demonstrated.

"I was just telling Ginny that the two of you are welcome to take a shower if you like."

"Really? Well I certainly hope you're taking her up on that offer," he mused, nudging me slightly with his elbow.

I glared at him as best I could, but I doubted it was very effective, because I could feel myself smiling against my will.

"Don't be a prat. Do you fancy a shower or not?" I demanded, running a hand over the spot where he had jabbed me.

He smiled again. "If neither of you protest."

Protest? _Protest_?! I couldn't for the life of me come up with a single reason why I would ever possibly protest to being in the presence of a freshly showered Draco Malfoy. The very idea was utterly unfathomable.

I pressed my lips together tightly and tried to feign an innocent expression. "Not at all," I managed.

Rosmerta coughed lightly. I would have glared at her, but it would've blown my cover entirely.

"So who's first, then?" she asked. I turned to Draco seeking an answer.

"After you," he offered, inclining his head in Rosmerta's direction.

"Fine," I stated simply.

"Then we're off," Rosmerta announced, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and turning to usher me down the hallway. "Mr. Malfoy, I'll come get you when she's through."

"Much obliged," I heard him answer.

I turned to look at him once more before we rounded the corner; his hands were still deep in his pockets, his shirt sleeves still rolled up to his elbows and his hair mussed from hours of the inattention. His all-too-natural smirk was still hanging lazily on his lips, and he winked at me before turning back to the pub.

Rosmerta barely managed to prevent me from walking into a wall.

**END OF CHP 14**

Thanks for reading!

And oh! The very wonderful l'istesso was so kind as to draw some very fun illustrations from the story! If any of you are interested, here are the links! Thanks so much, l'istesso! You rock!

Links: (h t t p ://i81 (dot) p h o t o b u c k e t (dot) c o m / a l b u m s / j 2 1 6 / p a d f o o t j r / a o m e 2 (dot) jpg)

(h t t p / i 8 1 (dot) p h o t o b u c k e t (dot) c o m / a l b u m s / j 2 1 6 / p a d f o o t j r / a o m e c h a p 1 4 (dot) jpg)

a thank you, I'd appreciate it if any of you took a look at one of her fics, which can be found on under the penname 'l'istesso'. It's called **The Many Misadventures of the Young Marauders**. Check it out!


	16. Chapter 16

**Oh my dear, dear God. I'm SO sorry all of you, I really am. I've been _so _busy with everything, I can't even believe I got this out as soon as I did. In fact, I should be working on my 30 minute Spanish presentation right now, but I really don't care. I couldn't stay away any longer. I feel horrible enough as it is! I hope you enjoy this installment and that you will consider forgiving me. **

**AOME: CHP 15**

I felt like I had been drugged. My eyes kept going in and out of focus as I slipped through my thoughts lethargically. I could vaguely sense Rosmerta's arm still snugly wrapped around my shoulder as she led me through the labyrinth of twisting wooden hallways and locked doors. It seemed like we had been walking forever. A small, infinitesimal part of me knew this wasn't true, but it was barely a whisper in my realm of thought.

After the initial near-accident concerning the wall, Rosmerta had tightened her grip on my shoulder and started speaking to me to focus my attention. It was working, though only just.

Every time my mind clouded over to replay the image of Draco with his hands shoved casually in his pockets smirking at me, she would ask a question in a rather rude manner, interrupting my musings. Her voice grew louder with every successive attempt, and my attention span diminished likewise.

I was just immersing myself into a fetching rendition of said type when a biting pain pinched at sensitive skin on the back of my arm. My body jerked involuntarily, much like it does when you're just about to fall asleep and then you suddenly feel like you're falling. Don't lie to me, you all know what I'm talking about—those embarrassing episodes when you jump ten feet in the air and then awaken only to embarrassingly discover that you're perfectly secure on your bed. Don't pretend it doesn't happen to you.

The point is it was more or less the same sensation, save for the fact that instead of finding myself on a soft mattress I was completely upright and leaning rigidly against a doorframe. Blinking several times, I looked up to see Rosmerta twisting an old brass key in the door, bent over her task in concentration. Despite this, I wasn't foolish enough to think that she wasn't fully aware of what had been going inside my head a moment ago.

"Down back on solid ground, are we?" she asked. She pushed open the door and nodded to indicate that I enter.

I walked through the threshold, albeit a bit unsteadily, and found myself in a large, open room. It was humbly but comfortably decorated, and I found it pleasant overall. A bed and a desk were in one half, a small yet functional kitchenette in another. An overstuffed sofa stood in the middle of the space near a low table covered with a stack of books. There were several windows on the far wall, and a single door stood at the right end of the room near the bed and desk.

"Not much to look at, but it serves its purpose," I heard her say over my shoulder.

I chuckled softly, and the action made me slightly woozy. "Not at all—it strikes me as a less-cluttered version of my home, actually," I responded.

Rosmerta ushered me farther into the space, shutting the door behind her.

"It used to be an attic, or loft, or something. Not really sure, to be honest. I renovated years and years ago. I've most everything I need up here," she smiled fondly, dropping onto the sofa and draping an arm over the back.

"_Up _here?" A feeling of absolute bewilderment suddenly ran icily down my spine.

I _really_ hadn't remembered going up any stairs.

She smiled in reply, telling me all I needed to know and more.

The feeling intensified sickeningly. I had been that bloody incoherent? I rubbed at my eyes with the palms of my hands, groaning.

"Don't fret on it. You just need some time. It's been a long day," she said, leaning her head back onto the cushions.

My hands stilled, and I let them slowly slide down my face to rest on the back of my neck.

"I imagine you're right," I responded, thinking back to the few minutes I had stolen after the chess match out of sheer necessity. I'm still not really sure how to describe why I did that, but it was like my mind was unraveling piece by piece from all of the days complexities, and the time to myself was what it took to sew everything back together. It made sense, really—it's similar to how you feel when you're awake for far too long; your mind is incredibly fatigued and you don't want to think about much of anything, much less things of a complicated nature, which Draco most certainly was. I needed to recharge, to gather my sanity.

Evidently those few minutes in the bathroom just hadn't done the job.

I plopped onto the sofa next to Rosmerta, mimicking her position on the cusions by throwing my head back onto the headrest. I stared blankly up into the bare vaulted ceiling. I could feel her doing the same.

"The shower's right through the door."

"Mmm…" I responded lazily.

A pause, while we both enjoyed the silence, and then:

"Do you suppose it's too bad outside for the owls?" I asked, not turning to look at her.

There was a squeak while she craned her neck to look out the window behind her.

"That depends. It's far too cold out to travel any great lengths. I don't know for certain, but I don't imagine your house is anywhere near here."

I snorted. "Yeah, because the first thing I'd want to do is mail my mum and tell her I'm stuck in a _pub _with _Draco _sodding _Malfoy_."

Rosmerta laughed breathily. "I beg your pardon, but this is a _family _establishment"

"Right, can't leave that out. She'll be thrilled to hear you're now serving firewhiskey to all ages."

My breath shot out of me in a whoosh as a pillow collided with my midsection. I smiled, satisfied with my show of wit.

"You've been spending too much time with that bloke of yours."

"I know," I sighed, throwing an arm over my eyes. "But you know, I'm kind of like that anyway, Draco or no. He just sort of brings it out."

"Fabulous thing, that," came her sarcastic, somewhat muffled reply.

"So, about the owls…." I digressed, glaring in her direction.

"Yes, them. To Hogwarts, then?"

"Yeah. It's not that far, really—about a mile and a half, probably less when in the air."

"Is it urgent?"

"Not terribly. I was going to mail one of my Housemates for some nightclothes." I saw her shrug out the corner of my eye.

"That shouldn't be too troublesome. There's a bit of parchment and a quill on that desk somewhere."

After taking a final moment to enjoy the comfort of the sofa, I rose and walked over to the neat desk. I hurriedly scrawled a brief note to Hermione, requesting that she owl back a pair of pajamas and some fresh socks and knickers. I folded the parchment rather unevenly, and set it on the table in front of Rosmerta.

"Mind if I head in, then?" I asked.

"Have at it," she said, rising from the sofa and stretching her arms over her head. She then grabbed my letter off of the table and began making her way towards the door. "There's fresh towels and so forth in there. I'm going to run downstairs and track down the owl. Holler if you need anything."

"I will, thanks."

She smiled a final time before exiting the room and shutting the door behind her.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply in order to relish the feeling of being alone once more, and then wasted no time in quickly crossing the room to the bathroom. I pushed open the door and found myself in a mid-sized, L-shaped bathroom with both tub and separate shower stall complete with sliding glass doors. A single vanity was on the left wall, and a multi-tiered wooden shelf covered in towels stood between the tub and shower.

I undressed eagerly, letting my multiple layers of clothing fall into a crumpled pile on the floor. I avoided the tub, being more or a shower person to begin with, and slid aside the doors and walked into the shower, shivering slightly as my bare feet touched the cold tile. I twisted the nozzle hurriedly, and my breath caught when the scorching water reached my skin. My muscles loosened beneath the pressure and heat, and for the first time in what felt like hours I was actually what I would call warm. The feeling was complete bliss after the events of the day.

I stood in the steaming water for what felt like an eternity that wasn't nearly long enough before turning in search of some hair cleansing potion. There was a small metal rack hanging on the wall, and I located what appeared to be a lavender-scented array of bathroom essentials, including hair cleansing and hydrating potions, body washes, and facial something-or-other. I grabbed one of the potions and lathered it into my soaked hair. I spent far too much time doing this, but the thought of hurrying through the process didn't even occur to me. I rinsed my hair and repeated the process with the other potion, and then grabbed a nearby bath sponge and randomly selected a form of the various washes. I began scrubbing at my soiled skin vigorously in attempt to rid myself of all forms of filth. The concoction seemed to soothe it somewhat, and gave off a rather pleasant aroma.

All too soon I found that I had utterly run out of things to cleanse. Still, I was reluctant to leave the steamy sanctuary of the small space. I enjoyed the way my mind was able to wander aimlessly and incoherently within its walls. Several minutes after the last bubbles had slide off of my skin, I finally turned off the water.

I cracked open the doors and groped blindly for a towel, drying off quickly within the warm, steamed-filled chamber. After wrapping the towel around my chest I stepped out of the walls and in front of the mirror.

My skin was somewhat flushed, but I felt indescribably better. I knelt to fish out the plastic comb from the pocket of my trousers, thankful that I had kept it. Though it was more than a bit of a struggle, I managed to work it through my thick hair, though only just; I suddenly found myself cursing McGonagall once again for my lack of magic and preventing what could have taken only a few words and replacing it with minutes of painful yanking.

Just as I was methodically dealing with the last of the knots, a sharp, deliberate noise caused me to jump. The plastic comb clattered to the sink, and my hands flew to the knot of the towel mechanically. Being nearly nude in a foreign environment is nerve-racking enough, and if you think _that's _bad, try being in the same place with the bloke who makes your skin tingle. Then and only then will you learn the true meaning of the word 'paranoia'.

The noise came again, and my heightened, acute senses determined that it was a knock.

Merlin I was a quick one.

I took one slow, timid step towards the door and pressed my ear against its surface, listening intently for any indication as to who was standing on the other side. My whole body tensed with concentration.

"Ginny?" 

I barely managed to stifle my cry of surprise at the sound of a voice, and took a deep, shuddery breath as I identified it as only Rosmerta.

"Y-yes, sorry."

"It appears your friend was more than prepared—she's mailed you back already."

I ran a hand through my hair, amazed at the effect my nerves had just pressed upon themselves. The mere thought of Draco's presence in the room _next _to mine had been enough to send my nerves into a bloody frenzy. Feeling utterly powerless, I abruptly twisted the handle and opened the door, not wanting to be left alone with such thoughts.

Rosmerta's calm face was waiting on the other side of the doorway. If she noticed my frazzled condition she offered no indication, and simply presented a small brown parcel, with a slightly calculating gaze.

"Thanks so much," I managed, swallowing under her stare. I took the package with one hand. "I'll just uh—" I gestured vaguely with my head behind me, unable to think clearly yet.

She merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, and I took the opportunity to retreat awkwardly back into the bathroom.

I opened the parcel eagerly, anxious for anything that would make me feel like I was more at home than a bath towel. Hermione had penned me a short note, stating that she was glad to hear that I was safe, and that she was doing her best to convince Ron and Harry of the same. I set it aside, and found my nicest pair of pajamas, fresh knickers and socks like I had requested. I also discovered that she had included my journal, and I welcomed the means of release with open arms. I dressed quickly, tidying the bathroom as necessary before folding my other clothing under my arm and leaving.

Rosmerta was draped across the sofa, using the arm as a headrest. She peered over the top of the tattered paperback in her hand when the bathroom door clicked shut behind me.

"Feeling better?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. I revised my earlier theory stating she hadn't noticed my odd behavior when she had knocked on the door. Why I had even been tempted to imagine she wouldn't have noticed is beyond me, but what's done is done.

"Yes, thank you. Sorry about earlier, I thought you were…well, you just gave me a right good scare, is all."

"I see," she responded, closing the novel and setting it on the table in front of her.

I glanced down at my wristwatch—8:00 pm. The idea of going down to my lonely room alone was somewhat unappealing, as was the option of sitting around a fire with complete strangers. I glanced around Rosmerta's quarters longingly.

"Madam Rosmerta, would you mind if I stayed up here for awhile? I don't fancy being alone underground quite yet, and I'm afraid I don't know anyone around the fire…"

"It's fine with me, though I think it would be more prudent to ask Draco about the matter than I." She rose from the couch, again stretching her arms over her head. "I'll go fetch him, then. Settle in wherever you like." She disappeared through the doorway.

Taking her advice, I took a seat on the floor in front of the couch. The pile of books scattered across the table caught my eye almost immediately, and I decided to take a look at some of them. If I was any sort of lucky maybe Rosmerta got some of her wisdom from them and I could learn the origin of some of her uncanny abilities. Merlin knows that knowledge would come in handy on more than one occasion.

I found the old paperback she had been reading earlier, which turned out to be an old Muggle classic that I'd never heard of. I considered reading the first chapter, but upon discovering that I couldn't even understand the dialogue decided that perhaps I didn't want to read it after all. What kind of name is _Wuthering Heights_, anyway? I decided I didn't care, and set it aside.

Other than the rather odd sounding Muggle novel, I found all the other books to be non-fiction. This wasn't really a surprise—she appeared to be a very well-informed woman. There was a relatively recent issue of _Witch Weekly_ and copy of _The Daily Prophet_. I found a copy of an old-looking book entitled _Magical Mysteries_, another called _Everyday_ _Medicine and Magic_, and an aged tome that appeared to be some sort of history book.

It wasn't until I reached the very bottom of the pile that something caught my attention. The title of the book was a word I had heard once or twice before, though not in reference to the magical world: _Psychology_. Intrigued, I flipped open the cover and skimmed through the table of contents. Some of it was utter gibberish, but I was able to recognize a few of the topics. I paged to the portion on personality, and briefly read through a portion concerning birth order and its influence on personality. I couldn't refrain from laughing when I read that the "only child" could have problems with accepting the idea that the world doesn't revolve around them, and was feeling quite smug until I read something that mentioned the "youngest child" could often be manipulative and quite unmotivated.

I was so absorbed in the text that I didn't even notice the shadow that slid over the page— a sad fact, but at said time I was quite determined to uncover some of the keys to Rosmerta's knowledge, convinced it would help me with Draco. That whole thing is quite ironic considering who the shadow belonged to.

"Interested in finding the key to your unconscious, are you?" My whole body jumped as I gasped, the heavy book slapping shut as it slipped through my hands in shock. My knee slammed into the hard undersurface of the table, and I instinctively snapped my head up to find the source of the voice, though I could have identified it if I were deaf. 

He stood casually in front of the table, hands in his pockets and hair brushed carelessly out of his eyes. When my hear rate didn't slow down after the initial scare I didn't need to wonder why. His damnable eyes were burning the blood in my veins, and I felt my body start to flush from the inside out.

When he raised a single eyebrow I realized that he was still awaiting an answer.

I swallowed before speaking, hating that my reactions were growing steadily more severe. "I haven't come to that chapter yet, actually." I reached out to massage my aching knee with one hand.

"Ever heard of Sigmund Freud?"

I shook my head, watching in a semi-Stupified state as he walked leisurely toward the table.

"He has a theory, a rather controversial one, stating that our personalities are purely primal, animalistic if you will." He slowly sauntered around the table and fell gracefully to the sofa directly behind me. I felt my spine tingle almost painfully, but didn't turn around. "The motivators behind all of our actions are sex and aggression, or so he says." One of his hands began to reach down, _way_ down, and I felt myself tense. His low chuckle resonated in my ear, ceasing my breathing. I was fairly certain if I titled my head to the side ever so slightly his lips would touch the skin just behind my ear, and believe it or not that did little to nothing to ease my nerves. "Relax, Weasley, I'm only after the book."

I cursed mentally, though for two different reasons entirely. The first was that I had _really _been hoping he hadn't noticed all of that. The second is far too embarrassing to mention, and coming from me that's saying something. All I will provide on the matter is that it really is remarkable how many perverted things you hear growing up with brothers, and as such, I generally consider myself immune to all sorts of vulgar language and or inappropriate imagery. So when I say that this particular image made me flush so badly I thought I was going to faint, you can imagine the level of perversion it exhibited.

The book, which I had for some mysterious reason forgotten when he entered the room, suddenly seemed to regain its place on top of my thigh as I was once again aware of its weight.

His fingers, which apparently hadn't caused me enough utter turmoil, took their time in sliding beneath the thick text, the weight of the pages pressing them into my flesh. I forced my muscles to remain still, a testament to hidden willpower that I didn't even know I had possessed. Though his fingers were only in contact with my leg for a few moments, it ached feverishly from the restraint.

I heard the springs of the sofa squeak as he readjusted himself on the cushions, and tried to ignore the now cold space on my thigh. The flutter of pages followed, and I craned my neck to see Draco's grey eyes skimming rapidly over the text, a finger poised near the corner as if ready for a page turn. I was reminded of the focused expression his face took during chess.

"What're you looking for?"

He didn't respond, simply narrowing his eyes slightly as he began flipping to a desired page.

Another one of my less-desirable traits is my complete intolerance for being ignored. I grow extremely impatient when this happens, mostly because I think ignoring someone is completely and entirely rude—what would it take to mutter a simply response? So I wasn't surprised when I felt myself grow slightly irritated at his lack of attention.

"Draco, what're you—"

"Ah, yes. Here we are."

In one fluid motion I suddenly found two arms wrapped around me from behind, gesturing to text on the page. And just like that my anger was gone. Despite his evident intent to get me to listen to him, however, I found myself very distracted by the placement of his legs, which he had somehow managed to position on either side of my shoulders in only a few seconds.

The text that had been so interesting minutes before, however, lost all forms of significance compared to the way the fabric of his trousers was stretched over the muscles of his thighs, which were currently eye-level and _very _close.

I vaguely heard his low, velvety draw somewhere near my ear, but couldn't bring myself to focus on the meaning of the words when the sound itself was comfort enough.

I felt myself floating, much like the feeling I had experienced during my trip upstairs with Rosmerta. There was only the hum of Draco's voice behind me, the gentle brush of his oxford shirt against my bare arm. I wanted to wrap myself in those senses, to envelop myself into a sealed space with his aura, his essence.

All at once I began to hear his voice more clearly, a soft, echoing sound that made me want to wrap my arms around my chest to ease the ache it caused somewhere deep inside it. I could hear him calling my name, the sound of it on his tongue causing my toes to curl. He repeated it over, and over, and over, and—

"Ginny."

_Oh _dear.

That really couldn't be a good thing.

I blinked several times as the world seemed to rematerialize around me blearily.

"_Ginny."_

When a hand passed in front of my face I realized in horror that I hadn't been hearing Draco's voice in my head at all—I had completely spaced out.

Well, on the positive side I wasn't hearing voices. Whether or not that outnumbered the fact that I now looked like a complete dolt is rather subjective.

I drew in a deep breath and slowly ran my hands over my face, rising from the floor, only to be stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I was hesitant to turn and show him the wariness, confusion and complete vulnerability that was no doubt reflecting in my eyes, but my body responded before my mind could even properly suggest not doing so. It really is astounding how often that happens, though I'm starting to think that his touch may have had something to do with why I was suddenly leaning into his arm, letting him spin me around like a doll. It's just a theory.

Regardless, I found myself facing him, and I'm glad I did so, lest I miss the fleeting look of concern that flittered across his features. The warmth in my chest began to spread once again, and I wanted to bathe in the feeling.

"I'm sorry," I blurted. "About all of that, I mean." I doubted there was any way to rationalize my peculiar behavior, but it was bloody well worth the effort if it meant he would think me any less odd.

"Are you alright?" he asked, ignoring my apology with narrowed eyes.

I opened my mouth to say yes, but in the next second realized there was no way I could lie when beneath that gaze. _Was _it okay to go this severely crazy for someone? Was it normal to lose your sense of reality, to fall away from the world when in their presence? Was it 'alright' to find your mind dominated, clouded by the mere thought of them?

If so, that _sure _explains a lot about where all my parents' craziness comes from. Same goes for Ron and his "Hermione Situation", as he liked to call it.

Still, I honestly didn't know the answer.

"I don't know much of anything anymore," I responded, shaking my head slowly. The solid grey of his stoic eyes offered some solace; I felt them wrap me inside their iron gates.

The hand resting on my shoulder slid down my arm to rest at my elbow. Draco rose, ushering me up from the floor by a slight tug at the arm, and directed me to where he had been sitting a moment ago on the sofa. I let myself sink into the cushions, which were warm from his body heat. He crouched in front of me.

"Are you okay for a few minutes? You're not ill? I don't want you getting sick all over the place while I'm in the shower."

"No, it's nothing like that. I just…I'm going mental, is all. It's terribly confusing, I don't even really understand myself—"

"Weasley," he interjected, "stop. I'm a grown man, of legal age and everything." He smirked at me, and I _almost _flushed; I certainly didn't need reminding of that. "Trust me when I say that I can handle a little chaos and confusion, will you?"

I nodded.

He smirked again. "I've always wondered what makes you so bloody crazy. I guess now I'll actually get to find out."

"That may not be such a good idea," I mumbled, not missing the sharp look he sent my way.

"Get some rest," he ordered, glancing away and back again before adding less seriously, "Merlin knows you need it."

I smiled slightly. "Rather like how you need that shower."

With a final quirk of his lips he turned, strolling towards the bathroom door. When he disappeared behind it I distinctly noticed the lack of the "click" signifying the lock. I only just managed to supress my subconscious' suggestion of the potential opportunities this provided.

The final click of the door seemed to finalize a decision that had been building in the back of my mind—I was going to tell him.

Then, in rapid succession, I felt my chest constrict with his absence and then immediately become nauseated for feeling such a way.

I had always known my mind deteriorated without time alone, but now it fell apart when he _wasn't _around? I wanted to scream. I _had_ to tell him.

I reached for my journal almost desperately, wondering if it could offer any help to me now. The leather offered a slight feeling of relief, and I hastily made my way over to Rosmerta's desk, anxious to see if the writing would continue to help. My fingers sought out the quill on her desk, the binding of my book creaking as I pried it open to a blank page.

Without considering a syllable I found the instrument gliding across the parchment. Words appeared describing my gratitude for Rosmerta, my steady mental declination, how utterly bad I was at chess, the look on Draco's face when he was asleep and the scent of lavender. The expressions pouring out of me took tension with them, lessening the pull on the anxious, exhausted, trembling nerves of my body. I felt my mind going beautifully and blissfully blank, and could have sworn I almost physically heard it sigh in relief.

I didn't notice how much I'd written until I realized I needed to turn the page.

I sighed, contentment beginning to slowly work its way back into my being. I closed my eyes and suddenly felt as if it were possible to be back in my dormitory, the familiar feeling of comfort after a long day overwhelming and relaxing.

My illusion was shattered by the sudden sound of rushing water. Draco had just stepped into the shower.

I waited for the anxiety to come seeping back into me, but no such thing happened. The peace was nearly overpowering—don't get me wrong, the realization that I was still very much alone in an unfamiliar place with a currently nude Draco still caused a bit of discomfort, but I no longer felt like my head was going to implode from sheer….sheer, I don't even know!

The noise _did_ focus my thoughts onto what I was going to do about the one responsible for the sound of water splattering against the tiled walls. There was simply no way I could hide from him any longer—such a thing was very much unlike me anyhow, and I was fairly convinced my mind was going to liquefy if it wasn't completely free of the burden it was carrying. The only problem of course was how I was going to go about doing this. Telling him seemed nearly impossible. I mean, what words do you use to tell Draco Malfoy that you…you…hell, I don't even know what it is I'm trying to say!

I picked up the quill and scribbled out a possibility on the paper.

_Draco, I really care about you…_

No. It sounded like I was trying to break up with the sod. Considering that we weren't even dating and that if _were_ breaking things off certainly wouldn't be the objective, I decied to try again.

_Draco, I really like you. A lot. _

Right then. I think my IQ dropped a few points with that one.

_Draco, I have feelings for you._

No. I could already hear him saying, 'Oh, really? And what might those be?' I was fairly certain I was trying to avoid that question to begin with, and scrapped that possibility. I let out a frustrated sigh. How was I supposed to explain to him how I felt when _I _didn't even know how to say it properly?

"Hello, Ginny."

I turned to see Rosmerta coming through the main door. I smiled to myself.

"Hi." I watched as she flopped onto the sofa. "You look positively spent," I noted, concerned.

She propped herself onto the back of the couch, folding her hands beneath her chin. "Bah, it's nothing. You're one to talk anyway."

"Me? I'm doing alright," I answered, glad to be able to say that truthfully.

"You didn't look so earlier. Are you feeling better?"

"Much. Look, I'm sorry about all of that…I'm just really overwhelmed, and it was sort of getting to me."

"About?"

I sent a meaningful look at the bathroom door, and met her gaze sheepishly.

She smiled, almost unwillingly. "They do tend to complicate things, don't they?"

I snorted. "Unbearably so. I thought I was going to break down or something earlier."

"But you're better?"

"I suppose so. I needed some organization to my thoughts, so I wrote them down. I forgot that's what this thing is for," I said, waving my journal in the air. "Sometimes I write things I hadn't even known I'd thought about. I don't know what it is about it, but it helps."

"The key to your unconscious."

Draco's voice instantly echoed in my head.

_"Interested in findind the key to your unconscious, are you?"_

"Freud?"

"Mmm. It's a good thing to be able to confront what you're afraid of consciously facing sometimes. It's hard to deal with something when it's not out in the open."

"I know what's going on inside my head now. I realized what I have to do. How do I—" I choked momentarily. "—how do I tell him, Rosmerta?"

"Well we're not talking about brewing Polyjuice here, Gin. Just tell him how you feel."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know myself."

"Describe it."

"I can't even do _that_. I wouldn't know where to begin. I've never felt this way before."

"Never?"

"Not about anything or anyone I can remember."

"Hmm."

I knew that 'hmm'.

"'Hmm', _what_?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

I could have sworn the smallest of sly smiles graced her features. "I'm sure Draco would be interested to hear that, is all."

And there it was. Part of me wanted to pummel her for being so intuitive, the other to worship her incessantly. I decided on something somewhere in the middle.

"How do you _do_ it?" I asked, somewhat disgusted.

"Do what?" she responded innocently.

"Know everything. Solve everything. I can't see the things you do, and they're usually right in front of my eyes."

She shrugged. "'The sun itself sees not 'til Heaven clears.'"

"Freud?" I guessed hopefully.

She smiled. "Shakespeare."

Right. Whoever _that _was.

As I continued to berate her for her incredulous abilities, I was quite abruptly aware of something: a silence. The water had been turned off. And then, in rapid succession, my stomach flipped and I flushed involuntarily at just what that meant. Rosmerta appeared to have noticed this as well, and there was a long silent moment, during which we both avoided looking at the bathroom door.

It was then that an interesting fact collided into place. I hadn't seen Draco go in with a change of clothes.

"Rosmerta!" I hissed, suddenly frantic, "he doesn't have anything to wear!"

She looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, and simply waggled her eyebrows at me. I felt significantly more horrified.

"Well he's not going to come out, is he?!"

"Relax, will you?" she whispered. "Better bloody well not, or his naked bum's going to get a right whomping."

"_Rosmerta!_"

"Well what do you want me to do, go in there and check? 'Excuse me, Draco, but you're not planning on coming out nude like that, are you?' I think that would _kind _of defeat the purpose."

"Do _something_!" I cried, gesturing wildly with my hands.

She groaned. "Fine." Her head promptly disappeared from the top of the sofa, and a moment later she reappeared, standing, and headed towards the bathroom door. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and I cringed. "Oie, Draco! Do you need anything? Change of clothes or some such thing?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

I felt my face utterly drain of color, a stark contrast to the heat willowing up inside of myself. Rosmerta shrugged helplessly.

"Now what?" I whispered, swallowing as I tried to erase the sound of his voice in my head.

"You go downstairs. When he comes out I'll force a change of clothes on him."

"But what if—"

"Ginny, do you really think he has an interest in flashing _me_?"

Okay, so _maybe _that was somewhat valid.

"I suppose not," I muttered. "He's not _that _arrogant."

"Right you are. Now get a move on, will you? How awkward do you think It'd look to have him open the door and see the both of us nearly huddled around it like some sort of freakish fan club?"

I quite nearly jumped out of my chair at those words, gathering my journal and borrowed quill.

"And oh, Gin?"

I paused, looking up at her.

"If he tries anything…"

I sent her a grin at. "I grew up with six brothers. I'll be alright."

She sent me a small smile in return. "I thought as much. Anyway, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Rosmerta. For everything, I mean."

She smiled again, before seeming to remember our current situation and regaining her stern face. "Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here, will you?"

I sent her one last appreciative smile before rushing towards the door, stopping only to pick up the psychology book on my way out.

As my foot touched the first stair, I swore I could have heard the click of a door being opened, though I just as easily could have imagined it.

Granted, the immediate tingling that shot up my spine that followed suggested that a very blond, very tall, very wet, and possibly very close to nude young man had just emerged from the bathroom.

I nearly missed the last stair.

Regaining my composure, I quite nearly began to dash down the wooden halls, feeling very much like I was being chased in a dream as adrenaline began to pump through my veins. The only difference was that I wasn't sure I would mind being captured by my predator.

**END CHP 15**

**Thanks so much for reading, and I'd like to apologize again! I appreciate your patience, and hope to hear what you thought!**


	17. Chapter 17

Hi! Alright, everyone, prepare yourselves! This chapter was written and rewritten and I'm _still _not happy with it, but that's the way it goes. I decided to post anyway. Let me know what you think. Oh, and I didn't really edit it…sorry about that.

**APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 16**

My heart was pounding, thundering in my chest. My legs, which up until then I had thought entirely spent, deftly continued their pace down the dark halls.

I passed the main pub, which was now completely dark save for the burning flames. I was somewhat surprised to find the room abandoned, and found myself unable to resist the peaceful ambiance it was offering. I moved closer to the fire, wrapping my arms tightly around my torso as I allowed the flickering heat to seep over me. I was waiting, a part of me knowing exactly what for.

I allowed my anxiety to melt away before the blaze, and as hard as I tried to create a plan of action, at some point I vaguely remembered that plans and strategies weren't quite part of my personality. It wasn't exactly surprising I had forgotten this—I was beginning to grow accustomed to this altered state of mind, to be honest.

In the end it came down to one simple fact: I had to do it, and it didn't really matter how.

That knowledge was acting almost like a sedative, spreading serenity throughout my body. I was quite sure I no longer wanted to keep up my charade, and my body was anticipating the sweet release that would come when I told him. An eloquent admission, a warm acceptance, maybe a snog or two, and all would be good in the world.

Right. As if it would go that smoothly. I may be a bit crazy, but I wasn't delusional. Hopefully.

I don't know how long I remained like that, sitting and wondering about what it would be like after I told him, but I felt myself grow intense, focused on my goal.

And then, like a bat out of hell, came a voice. "Hullo."

Of course he had to wait until I was in said state of mind to make his way down here, didn't he? He affectively scared the pants off of me. It wasn't just your normal 'hullo', either—it was a bit lower, mysterious, as if he was trying to say fifty more things with just that one word.

I whirled at the sound of his voice after I recovered my wits, thank-you, and my breath was promptly stolen again, though this time for an entirely different reason.

He was exquisite. Clad in a Weird Sisters shirt that was entirely too small for him and a pair of hacked-off sweatpants, he was certainly varying from his usual style of neatly pressed shirts and impeccably tailored trousers. Not that I was complaining, mind you. The shirt was clinging to him from remnants of moisture that he apparently missed when drying off, and the sweatpants, which came down several inches past his knees and actually looked more like long shorts, offered me a hefty view of toned leg. His hair was tousled about and damp, and he was barefoot.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is everything alright?"

_Oh _yes. "Yes, yeah. Er...I'm sorr—"

"Sorry, I know." He rolled his eyes. "I was just wondering why you didn't respond, is all."

Because you're gorgeous. "It's complicated." Not really.

"Complicated—this wouldn't be the same complicated and confusing you mentioned earlier, would it?"

I smiled a little. "You're perceptive."

He shrugged. "When I need to be, I suppose."

There was a silent moment while I tried to make sense of that. I gave up shortly, and opted for a much more simplistic concept. "How was your shower?"

It wasn't until after I asked the question and he smirked slightly that I realized it was mildly inappropriate.

"Well aside from the fact that I now smell like sodding lavender, wonderful," he drawled sarcastically.

I snorted, wondering fleetingly if Rosmerta had done such a thing intentionally. It wouldn't surprise me. "Lavender smells nice. And it's supposed to be very soothing, you know," I pointed out.

The look he sent me ended our conversation on the topic.

"Well at least your pajamas look comfortable," I said innocently, knowing full well that it would irritate him. I wasn't disappointed.

"Comfortable? _This_? It's positively _itchy._" He pulled the fabric away from his skin with two fingers, his lip curling. "She wouldn't let me leave unless I agreed to put it on."

"She was just trying to help. That shirt is probably an antique from her teenage days."

Draco raised an eyebrow, a slightly disgusted look on his face. "Antique? I'll say—there's _holes _in it."

"I think it's very nice of her," I informed him, trying my best not to laugh at the look on his face.

"Yes well, I would've too had I suggested even a remote interest in wearing it. Needless to say this won't be staying on long."

My blood instantly went cold. "S-sorry?" I wheezed, sure I had misheard him.

"You can't possibly expect me to _sleep _in this," Draco stated, looking positively resolute.

Actually I had.

"Well no, I…I just…" I trailed off awkwardly, causing a grin to spread slowly onto his face.

"Is that a problem?" he asked, cocking a bemused brow.

Well considering the last time I saw him _partially_ shirtless I fell down a flight of stairs, such a thing might be a bit hazardous to my health. Merlin, I didn't even want to consider what would happen if I saw him entirely shirtless. Of course, I wasn't about to admit that to Draco. Not yet, anyway. I would have to deal.

"Not at all." My voice sounded impossibly small. "I just figured it might get a bit drafty in the room."

"Drafty." He sounded less than convinced.

"Drafty, yes."

His lips twitched as if restraining a smile. "Need I point out, Weasley, that the room is below ground? I don't think we'll be getting any drafts."

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, trying my best not to look as dreadfully embarrassed as I felt.

Either it was somewhat successful or he took pity on me, because he changed the subject. "So what are you doing out here all alone anyhow?" he asked, moving to lean his back against a table in such a way that he was facing me. His arms crossed across his chest and legs crossed at the ankles in his usual stance.

I almost cringed at the question. "Honestly?"

"No, Ginny, I want you to lie to me." He rolled his eyes. "_Yes _honestly."

"Just standing here being alone and thinking."

"Ah, so I interrupted something important I see."

"Yes, actually." Hey, if he wanted honest he was going to get it.

"That being?"

"It's what I'm confused about—it's a secret I have, something only one other person knows, and I can't keep it anymore." I kept my gaze focused on the fire, but could see him watching me out of the corner of my eye.

"So what's the problem?"

I bit my lip. "The problem is I don't know how to go about revealing it."

"May I suggest openly telling someone? That usually seems to work," he drawled sarcastically.

"I can't just throw it out there—it's a fragile topic."

Draco shrugged. "Sure you can. There's nothing wrong with being honest, remember? Throw away."

"Look I—" I ran a hand trough my hair. "Stop oversimplifying. You know very well what I mean."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

Well he damned well better or I was going to feel like an incredibly big dolt.

"Don't you have any secrets? Something you've tried telling someone but don't know how?" I asked desperately.

"Of course I have secrets—any intelligent sod does, which is probably why I've never felt the need to tell anyone about them," he said, narrowing his eyes as if this concept was completely obvious. How incredibly Slytherin.

"Well, you told me a bit about your father. Do many people know about that?"

"What's your point?"

"I'd say that's a secret."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because _you're _different."

"How? Do you trust me?"

He didn't reply, but I distinctly saw him swallow before he turned his head toward the fire.

A silent moment passed and an idea began rapidly forming in my mind. I blurted out, "Here, I have an idea. Follow my lead. I secretly hate the colors gold and red together."

"Ginny, I don't know that I really care—"

"Nobody knows, but it's true. I think my housemates would have me in. Your turn."

He was silent for a long moment, as if considering whether or not to accept the challenge. His eyes bore into me the entire time. Finally he spoke. "I can't stand disorganization."

I snorted. "That's a secret?"

He glared in return.

"Okay, okay…" I guess that was a start.

He looked back at me expectantly.

"The thought of eating a carrot makes me gag, but I honestly don't even remember what they taste like," I admitted.

"That's ridiculous," he stated simply, looking like he truly meant it.

"I know."

"Today was the first time I shoveled snow, and had we not had to do it for four straight hours I might have enjoyed it. And along those same lines, I suggest trying carrots—I never thought I'd enjoy spending time with Weasley's sister, but I was…" he trailed off, lifting and dropping one shoulder.

I swallowed. "You _what_?"

"Well for once I didn't mind being wrong about something. Who knows, you may realize they're your favorite vegetable and you didn't even know it."

I had just been compared to a vegetable. Joy. Still, part of me wondered just how literally he had meant that comparison to be taken; was I Draco's favorite vegetable?

I pushed the question from my mind, and decided to pretend it had never existed.

I continued next, deciding to take the game to the next level. "I'm afraid that the relationships in my life are one-sided."

"All of them?" His tone was almost carefully unemotional, and I wished to God he would allow himself to completely let loose just _once_.

"Some more than others," I answered, watching his features as closely as possible without looking downright awkward.

"Ours?" This time I detected a bit of something—trepidation, maybe? His tone was softer and slightly hoarse, less in-control.

I tried to remain nonchalant with my reply, but the fact that he had labeled this thing between us an actual 'relationship' made it difficult to suppress my excitement—his words made it real, concrete. "Sometimes."

His eyes fell to the ground, and I could have sworn I heard a scoff. "I guess I should have expected that. I can't imagine you taking a liking to me after all the rubbish I've laid on you."

My jaw nearly dropped. Was the imbecile serious? He thought _I _didn't like _him_? "I…I meant the other way around, Draco."

His gaze immediately snapped up to mine from the floor. The look was so intense I almost regretted saying such a thing; he looked angry, maybe disbelieving. I couldn't place the emotion, but it somehow made me feel like I had done something wrong, offended him somehow.

I decided to change the subject. "It's your turn."

"_I _don't get scared of many things," he said, looking pointedly at me, which successfully made me feel guilty, of what I didn't know. "But I do find it scary that I think I do trust you."

"I _want_ you to trust me, which scares me just as much."

"I'm considering actually telling you something meaningful right now."

"I've been thinking about telling you something all day."

We both glanced at each other in the fire's dying light, neither of us quite willing to take the next step. The shadows made it hard to read his features, though they seemed to reveal a different part of him—something that wasn't visible in the daylight. He looked, if possible, even more gorgeous when shrouded in mystery. I just wished he would let me know what that mystery was, damn it!

Then, all at once, something seemed to click in Draco's mind. "Wait a moment—this secret of yours—_I'm _the one you need to tell?"

"Yeah," I replied cautiously, wondering just how much he had pieced together.

"Well then out with it!" he exclaimed, leaning forward slightly from the table so he could look directly at me. "I told you I'd talk to you about what was bothering you upstairs and now you bring up this secret business—seems to me like you could kill two birds with one stone."

I groaned. "Didn't what just happened teach you anything? It's not that easy, Draco. I didn't hear you spilling your guts out either."

"Well you yourself said you wanted to be rid of it," he defended. In my emotional state it was hard to remind myself he wasn't trying to be argumentative, and my patience wavered.

"I _do_."

"Well then what are you waiting for?"

"I'm scared, alright?!" I exclaimed, surprising the both of us.

"Of what?! Me?" he retorted.

"Indirectly, I suppose."

I could tell I caught him off-guard. At first he seemed shocked, but his eyes narrowed to something almost like a wince, then seemed to settle into a glare. Instantly I realized I had made a mistake. "Right," he stated crisply, rising from the table and moving to gather his things from its surface.

"Draco it's not like that—it's not what you think," I pleaded, feeling panic rise within me.

He became still at my words, his back to me, then spoke with such deadly precision I nearly felt my heart stop beating. "I suppose all I can say is that I'd listen if you told me. I just want you to know that." What that, he stalked off towards the hallway, leaving me in his wake.

I felt sick.

His use of my words from earlier had been no accident, and I immediately understood why he had done so—he had a point. Who was I to demand that he be honest with me but then withhold my own deep secrets? We were both in the exact same position. His secrets may be just as painful as mine, whether or not I thought it was possible.

I sighed. I supposed I would have to own up to that, huh? Unfortunately I could only think of one method that could possibly work for said situation, and it was going to be painful. I hurried after Draco before I could properly consider the torture I was about to put myself through.

The door to the room was open, and I spotted him sprawled in the armchair, apparently intent on the psychology text I had nicked from Rosmerta. I descended the stairs and stood before him, feeling rather like I was paying tribute to some enigmatic god.

I watched him closely. His eyes were snapping with some unidentifiable emotion, though not a pleasant one. He refused to look up to meet my gaze, evidently so thoroughly transfixed by the book that he couldn't spare me the slightest bit of attention. The charade would have been almost convincing had he actually remembered to move his eyes instead of burning a hole through a specific spot on the page.

"Draco, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it in the way you think."

He ignored me completely. I felt my patience slip.

"Now I'm not even worthy of eye contact, is that it?" I asked furiously.

Again, no response. The feeble patience that was remaining all but vanished completely.

"You know, maybe I wouldn't be unintentionally insulting you if you'd explain why it makes you so sour in the first place!" I growled, tired of his antics.

He raised an eyebrow. Oh that did it. That bloody well did it!

"Will you stop that?!" I cried, throwing my arms up in the air.

He glanced up from the book. Now I had his attention.

"I'm absolutely tired of trying to figure out what you're thinking! I may be perceptive, Draco, but I'm no mind reader."

He snapped the book shut. "Is it really that complex, _Weasley_?" he sneered; I really didn't like the way he emphasized my surname. "Stop and think about it for one moment, will you? Give me one good reason why I'd want you—or anyone for that matter, but specifically you—to be afraid of me."

Well that went well. That wasn't exactly the attention I had been hoping for…

He continued when I didn't respond. "Do you any idea how _bothersome _it is to have people think that you want them to be afraid of you? I don't even know how that whole idea got started in the first place! I don't care what some ridiculous First Year thinks, but to have you of all people say that is just...just—"

I spoke, my voice suddenly returning. "It's not like that!"

"Not like what?" he sneered. "I'm fairly certain I know what it feels like to have people fear you, so I'll be the judge if you don't mind." He narrowed his eyes.

I took a deep breath. It was now or never. Sink or swim. Do or die. Into the fray, Ginny! "I'm not scared _of _you," I started timidly, and then mentally berated myself. That had sounded weak even to me.

"Will you make up your bloody mind?! For God's sake which is it? You either are or you aren't. And be honest—you're not the only one who's tired of trying to sort things out."

"I don't—"

"Just _say _it, Ginny!"

"I'm afraid of what you do to me, Draco, alright?"

"_What_?" he exclaimed, from the looks of it completely dumbfounded as his face screwed up in confusion.

"You…when you're around I…I go crazy. You wanted to know what makes me crazy and it's you," I finished lamely.

His brow furrowed. "I don't understand—what did I do that makes you afraid?"

Oh sweet Merlin! Of all the times to have a blond moment, Draco, this is quite possibly the _worst_! I seriously considered changing my opinion concerning the depth of his intellect. Then again, I couldn't really blame him—that "explanation" I had provided was vague at best.

"No, no it's nothing you did." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. He just had to make this difficult, didn't he?

It was then that a horrifically brilliant idea occurred to me. The thing about those is that they're usually bad news or complete genius, and hence require careful deliberation before they are implemented.

So, naturally, I considered it for all of two seconds. "Here, stand up."

He looked wary at first, but complied nonetheless. I swallowed when the fabric of the shirt rippled against his body.

"Right now I have this weird fluttering sensation in my stomach. Take a few steps toward me, will you?"

He did so wordlessly, never breaking eye contact.

"My spine is tingling right now. Take another."

He stepped forward, now only a few inches from me. He no longer appeared completely confused; his eyes were wide, and I absently noticed he wasn't blinking. I willed myself to form the next words, convincing myself telling him the truth would be worth this.

"Now's usually the part where my mouth goes dry." I swallowed again—this time was no exception. "Touch me." I flushed slightly at the demand—hey, you would've too!

Still, despite my lack of conviction, he reached out with his slender fingers to trace a line from my shoulder to my elbow, nestling his hand comfortably in the crook of my arm. As if on cue I felt my muscles begin to writhe in ecstasy from the simple touch. I raised my hand for him to see—it was trembling. Almost instantaneously his eyes grew dark, hooded. I had to will myself to breathe, and struggled to keep my voice steady.

"O-Outside, earlier when you thought I was afraid, I was…in a way. But it wasn't what you thought. It—" My throat clenched up painfully. "It was because of how disgustingly easy it is for you to do this to me," I murmured, sending a reproachful glance down at my quavering hands. "You thought I was shaking because I was afraid—I was afraid _because_ I was shaking, Draco. I'm not afraid of you, I…" I trailed off for a moment, not knowing how to complete my thought, or if I needed to. I looked up at him once more, and somewhat desperately asked, "Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly, and I didn't fail to notice that his eyes had transformed into the dark, intense orbs that could so easily bend my will. He was silent for what felt like forever. I didn't breathe as I watched his face for any indication as to what he was thinking.

"I'm just wondering something," he said, voice lower and even more intoxicating than usual. The hand at my elbow beckoned me toward him. I had no choice to be pulled closer still.

"W-what?" I managed, underneath the hot stare.

The corners of his mouth turned up slowly, predatorily. "What happens when I do this?" A hand slid behind my neck, the feeling of his fingers floating across my skin something similar to heaven. My nerves very nearly felt like they were in a state of euphoria, and I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried, control my body's natural reaction—I shivered.

I looked up at him hopelessly, and watched the smile grow, his eyes burn fierce beyond all measure. "You don't have to speak—that was answer enough."

I swallowed, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"How about this?" The hand at my elbow snaked around my waist to the small of my back, just above the waistband of my pajama bottoms, and pulled me flush against his body abruptly.

And let me just say, nothing could have prepared me for that. I gasped at the sudden contact, feeling all the blood drain from my face and to other er…parts of my anatomy. I closed my eyes, relishing in the feeling, and only when I reopened them did I realize that one of my own hands had worked its way up his chest and was resting at his shoulder.

Horrified, I snatched it away quickly, and attempted to back away from him. "This really isn't a good idea…I'm starting to feel a bit lightheaded," I protested. Both the verbal and physical discouragement was ignored, seemingly having the opposite effect. Go figure. With Draco I really shouldn't have expected anything else.

"No?" he asked, his voice breathy and innocent. His lowered his head slightly, moving steadily closer—to where I wasn't quite sure.

I shook my head.

"Pity," he breathed. A hand slipped under the hem of my shirt as he simultaneously whispered, "If I did this would it change your mind?" His bowed head was inches from my neck when he spoke, and I could almost feel his lips graze my skin at the sound of his husky voice. The breath on my neck combined with the feel of his fingers caressing my back made me sigh disgustingly, and I felt his lips twist into a smirk.

Of all the things, _that_ was what made my knees go out.

"Draco, you can't do this."

"I can, actually. Very well, I might add," he said smugly.

"You really don't understand how bad it is, do you?" I asked, managing to push him away only slightly.

"Enlighten me."

Oh, that I could. "If this continues I won't be able to just…just… _stand_ here!" I hissed.

"What's stopping you?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but then realized I had no response whatsoever. What _was _stopping me? I clearly recalled going into this situation with no expectations or hopes—I had noting to lose and everything to gain. This was what I had fantasized about! 'Carpe diem, Ginny!' part of my mind was yelling furiously. In fact, it sounded so angry that were it physically possible for your mind to go on protest, I think it would have in a heartbeat.

True, this was what I'd wanted, but something was missing. Believe me when I say I undoubtedly wanted to take what he was so blatantly offering, but a sickening feeling in my stomach told me that it wouldn't be enough.

And, of course, that thing that I wanted was the one that I couldn't have. I felt my body sag in defeat as I realized that if I couldn't have both that I didn't want either. Again part of me suggested that I should take what I could get, but I silenced it hurriedly. Damn my morals!

"What is it?" Draco asked, apparently sensing my reaction.

"You remember that secret I told you earlier? The one about my fear of one-sided relationships?"

He nodded.

"I'm scared right now."

There was a disgustingly long and horrific silent moment, during which his hold on me all but vanished and his eyes grew wide.

"You don't think I care?"

His words were almost more terrifying, because he almost, _almost _sounded hurt.

"I do. I just don't know if it's the same care I feel.

"Which is what, exactly?"

I suddenly wished he wasn't looking at me in the eye, for it would make what I was about to say a lot easier. I took a deep breath before I spoke. "I don't know if your skin tingles when I'm around. I don't know if you dissect the meaning of everything I say. I don't know if you respect my opinion, or if you're ever preoccupied with thoughts of me. I don't know if you want me to trust you more than anything, or if you're constantly wondering what I'm thinking. I don't know if you even know how you feel about me, or if you're in my position and all that you're sure about is the fact that you've never felt like this before." I let out a mirthless laugh, and shrugged my shoulders, forcing myself to drag my eyes up to his face.

From what I could tell, he looked taken aback. He watched me with unmoving eyes, his lips were parted slightly and his chest was rising and falling much heavier than usual, as if he were breathless.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Well…now you know why I'm afraid."

For a moment he looked as if he were about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it.

I couldn't take any more under his gaze and turned around, feeling exposed and bare before him. It appeared that I had rendered him speechless, and although I would normally have taken great pride in such a thing, this case was an exception. I hadn't really been expecting a response and therefore wasn't shocked when I didn't receive one, but I'd be lying if I tried to tell you I wasn't hoping he'd immediately remedy my fears and assure me that my they were completely unjustified.

I could feel his presence behind me, his eyes on my back. Not really knowing what else I could say at that point, I sat down rather abruptly in the desk chair. What I really wanted to do was to simply wait for him to answer me, but I figured that probably wouldn't look too natural or be too good for my mental health, so for lack of other options opened my journal and pulled out the quill I had borrowed from Rosmerta.

It was that moment that the reality of what I had just done began to sink in. The sensation I experienced was indescribable; I felt a pair of dumbbells lift from my shoulders, but the ache in my chest still remained, sometimes a pleasant burning and sometimes, like now, an unpleasant physical pain. My stomach was tying itself in knots at the prospects of what could happen now that I had told him. I felt exposed, as if I no longer had anything to hide behind. He knew all there was to know. It was all left up to him.

I had done all I could, and yet I was still terrified.

Because when it came down to it, I really, _really _wanted Draco Malfoy.

**END CHAPTER 16**

I'm really nervous about whether or not you guys liked it! Let me know!


	18. Chapter 18

**Well, it's finally here. I'm not quite sure how I feel about it, but I decided to just go ahead and post it anyway. Thanks for sticking it out until I updated. Your reviews were wonderful! **

**AOME: CHP 17**

Why I had thought trying to write was a good idea I shall never know, for the only thing I accomplished was successfully wasting a sheet of parchment with broken, incoherent phrases that barely resembled English.

I realized this rather quickly, and immediately abandoned the attempt for doodling aimlessly across the parchment. A curvy line sustained my attention for awhile before I lost interest and switched to the intricacies of a heart. Complex, eh?

It wouldn't have been had it remained a simple shape. Soon, however, a frayed rope appeared around it, followed by a padlock and chain, some cracks on its surface. A stitched wound appeared next, followed by a patched hole.

I stared at the horrible creation for a few moments before dropping my quill abruptly, as if it was hot to the touch. Had I honestly reduced myself to morbid doodles as a solution to my problems? How disgustingly cowardly could I get?

Feeling suddenly emboldened, I twisted in my chair to catch a glimpse of Draco.

Now, I'm not one who is surprised easily; with six older brothers you'd be amazed how many times I had experienced someone spontaneously jumping out of a closet or grabbing one of my ankles from beneath my bed. As such, I had developed a sort of tolerance, if you will, to being caught off guard.

Despite all of this, what I saw absolutely blew my mind.

For you see, Draco was sitting in the armchair, buried in the psychology tome once again, as if _nothing had happened_.

That image, that disgustingly terrifying image, caused a pressure to begin building deep within my chest. I could feel it intensifying with each passing moment, until it suddenly burst, aching fiercely, as if something had broken. I had no idea what the feeling was; I only knew that it was excruciatingly painful.

And then my eyes started to burn.

No. I couldn't be. It just plain and simple couldn't _be._

Panicking, I rose from the chair, knocking the desk in the process, and hurtled up the stairs two at a time. Only moments after I slipped into the safe sanctuary of the deserted hallway and closed the door behind me were my fears confirmed: I was crying.

Seeing him sit there, completely natural as if nothing had happened, had broken me. This is precisely what I had feared, and it turns out I was right all along. I stifled a sob, unable to help thinking that it would have been better to have him shoot me down directly. The apathy was worse, as he obviously didn't even care enough to tell me how he felt. I wasn't worth the time. And if he didn't care that much, well, I certainly didn't want him to see me crumble at his feet.

I suddenly felt as if I couldn't get enough air despite the deep, heaving breaths I was taking. The pub felt like a cage, and I longed to escape from this nightmare if only for a moment.

Struck with need, I rushed down the hallway and slipped as quietly as I could through the door to the building.

The air was biting, though I welcomed the feeling. The wind had died down significantly and only a few scattered flakes were falling lazily from the sky. The instant I was entirely outside I allowed myself to sob, not even trying to examine why. In the long-run it didn't matter, anyhow. I just couldn't contain everything anymore. I welcomed the release.

I wrapped my arms around myself and hunched over slightly, hoping that it would somehow hold me together as I fell completely apart. The worst of it was that there was absolutely nothing I could do to fix any of it—this was out of my hands.

I don't know how long I stayed like that, watching as my tears melted a small part of the snow on the front stoop, listening to the complete silence. Eventually, though, the heaving sobs stopped, leaving only a raw, aching hole in my chest, and it was only when I began to feel the cold slightly numb my entire body from the inside out did I leave the fresh air.

I reentered the building in a somewhat dazed state, unaware of how I was even functioning. My mind was entirely blank, leaving me with only the hollow sensation in my chest to occupy my thoughts. Somehow, despite my lack of cognizance, my feet managed to carry me back to the door of the room.

My chest tightened painfully as I recognized and sensed the presence on the other side of the door. I stepped inside and carefully made my way down the stairs, taking care to avoid looking in his direction at all costs. I paused at the desk chair, squeezing my eyes shut momentarily due to the sting breathing caused in his presence.

I opened my eyes to find myself staring at my journal. It was then that I noticed something was horribly, horribly wrong.

My heart was no longer on the page at all. Instead, in a clean yet distinctly male script, were three words.

_I do care. _

At first I didn't believe they were there. I read them over and over again, sure they would disappear at any second. The only thing that disappeared even slightly, however, was my doubt. The meaning of what was written on the page began to sink in, though it still seemed too good to be true.

I turned quickly, half-expecting Draco to be buried in the pages of the book once more. I nearly recoiled in surprise when I turned to see him looking at me with a clenched jaw and serious expression. My stomach flipped over.

It all felt so real, but I still couldn't believe it. Though it may have been slightly foolish and incredibly juvenile, I did what first came to mind—I wrote a response on the paper with a shaking hand.

_I don't think that's possible._

I wanted to believe it. Trust me, I _really _wanted to believe it. In fact, part of me was cursing wildly for not already doing so when the words were right there on the parchment. Still, how could I just accept that for true when he had acted in such a way earlier?

I moved from the desk to the already folded pile of clothing I had worn that day, and promptly began refolding for no apparent reason. I swallowed nervously when Draco caught my eye, and I glanced at the journal as a means of response. He understood and rose, and I distinctly noticed the way the psychology tome all but fell to the floor when he did so, completely abandoned.

I continued fidgeting with the laundry while he wrote, the scratching of the quill sending nervous chills through my body. Part of me wanted to be peering over his shoulder intently, while the other was petrified he was going to respond that it was all a joke, and thus was perfectly content with pretending to fold clothing. I had already begrudgingly accepted the fact that said charade was about as affective as Draco's feigned interest in the book on the floor, but I didn't quite care, as long as it kept my hands from shaking.

He sauntered back to the chair and gracefully fell back into his previous position.

I lasted, oh, about two seconds after his arse hit the cushion before my obsessive curiosity got the best of me. Hey, that was a long two seconds, alright? There was an inner battle and everything: did I want to risk looking completely and ridiculously needy in order to sate my curiosity? Yes, yes I did. Anyway, given my current mental state, it's amazing I lasted _that _long.

I dropped the clothing in a heap on the floor that was distinctly messier than the one I had started with and all but tripped over myself in my haste to get to the desk. You'd think I'd ran a marathon by the time I got there, too. My heart was pounding, and I was quite nearly out of breath. The words written nearly made me shiver.

_Turn around and I'll prove it._

I could almost hear his voice, demanding and almost threatening in his cold, confident manner. It was a bit intimidating, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous beyond all reasoning. How in the name of God did he expect to prove this? By sitting around in an armchair looking gorgeous?

Despite my uncertainty I assented and turned around, only to find myself so surprised by the fact that he had risen in that short time frame that I nearly recoiled. That _alone _was kind of alarming, but the thing that took the cake was that I turned around and very nearly collided with a chest. Draco's chest, to be exact.

At a complete loss for words, my brain attempted to ask what he was doing at the same time my body nearly moaned in an exceedingly embarrassing manner. The verbal result was a mix of the two, which sounded remotely like, "Wha-ooh..".

My eyes, of course, traveled to his own on their own accord, causing the inevitable to ensue. My entire body began to tremble from the inside out. I felt weak, like I was spinning out of control. I attempted to move backwards, but found that the desk was preventing any means of escape. My disbelief concerning what was happening was no doubt written on my face as clear as his words on the page.

When one corner of his mouth twitched after I sent him a somewhat desperate look, I knew such a thing had been no accident.

Still, what in the name of all that was holy was he doing? Hadn't we already been over this? I had told him exactly what would happen if this occurred. I saw no way how reiterating the fact that I was ridiculously attracted to him was going to prove that he cared the way I did.

Whether he could tell what I was thinking or not I wasn't sure, but if he could he didn't seem deterred by it. A hand snaked around my waist, beckoning me closer to him. I swallowed, having no choice but to oblige. His fingers wandered across the small of my back aimlessly before his other hand found its way to my neck once again. I flinched at his touch, only because I knew my reaction would be incredibly embarrassing. I wasn't disappointed.

I attempted to send him some nonverbal signs of disproval, but you can really only do so much when an attractive young man has you nearly pinned against a desk, especially when a very large part of you is enjoying it.

Draco didn't seem to notice or care about my disproval, as small as it was. As his fingers continued to slide over my skin, he was staring at me with the most serious, intense expression I had ever seen. His eyes were burning so furiously it was nearly frightening, though in an unusual way. It took me a moment to place the strange emotion, simply because I hadn't been expecting to experience it concerning Draco anytime soon—anticipation.

Bloody hell, did that make me a slag?

When I felt his muscles shift forward even farther, and when I felt the lines of his body finally press up against mine, I think I stopped breathing. I wasn't exactly sure, you see, for I was a bit distracted by something far more important. To be quite honest, I'm not sure how I managed to remain standing during this time—the feel of his form against me was something akin to heaven.

I suppose I'll be easy to please in the afterlife, eh? Just give me a Draco Malfoy and I'll be good to go.

A tingling sensation began to shoot up my spine, as if the pleasure center of my brain was on overload, and his fingers continuing to send ripples of ecstasy through my skin.

Okay, now you may call me slow for saying this, but despite all that was happening, I still hadn't the foggiest idea as to what was going on. Once again, I was distracted. And if you don't find that reasoning valid then that simply means you have never felt the glorious sensation of Draco's lean muscles pressing into you, driving you positively crazy. If you had, you would accept that as reasoning for just about anything.

Anyhow, I have no idea how long we remained like that, his thighs pressing into mine, his eyes melting me and his arms holding me together. In fact, I was completely in the dark, though comfortably, until his eyes fell to my lips.

In that instant, my world froze, completely and utterly. I have experienced forgetting to breathe, but never had I been so shocked where I actually physically _couldn't_ breathe. I was completely paralyzed. My heart arrested completely, my very pulse faltering. For something that I thought I would experience only in my dreams it felt exceptionally real. Perhaps I had finally flown over the cuckoo's nest and was imagining it all. It was certainly plausible.

I watched as his molten eyes narrowed slightly, which I was now able to recognize as a sign of concentration, before he began to move toward me at an agonizing pace. My pulse went from nearly nonexistent to racing in a mater of moments, my breathing growing shallower and shallower with each lost inch. I was utterly intoxicated by the way his eyelashes were sweeping over the pale cheeks under his heavy lids.

Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, he stopped, an almost undetectable distance from me. I glanced down to his lips, which were slightly parted, back up to his eyes. He met my gaze, then, in a gesture that I found to be extremely vulnerable, slightly erotic, and almost open. Somehow, I'm not quite sure how exactly, but somehow I knew that this was his way of telling me he wasn't afraid. He was exposing the fact that he too, was very affected, telling me he knew what he was doing. Though he didn't say a word, it was the closest I had felt to him all day. That one moment of allowing me to touch his soul was all it took for the doubt about his claim to vanish.

And then, in the second following, Draco Malfoy kissed me.

Some people say that when someone kisses you right you feel triumphant—like you're on top of the world, or floating amongst the clouds with the angels. They say your heart burns with passion, as if empowered.

That may be true, it may not be. I really don't have much to base it off, you see, because unless I'm very much mistaken, I rocketed past 'right' and went straight to 'perfect', for it was nothing like the aforementioned.

I say it's more like your heart breaks into a thousand pieces, as if so overwhelmed by emotion it finally gives in and surrenders completely. You don't feel empowered at all, but rather like you're offering up a part of yourself, exposing everything, losing control, and above all permitting another to know all of this. It sounds unbearable, I'm sure, but it's worth every second of it for one simple reason: you're getting the exact same thing in return. It was all velvet, slow and drugging.

The world began to distort around me, though whether or not it was because of the kiss or a lack of oxygen I'm not sure. He pulled away then, and I winced with the loss of contact.

My eyes, which had apparently fallen shut at some point, opened to find two swirling gray ones. I've never seen the inside of a tornado, but I'd imagine that if I could, it'd look exactly like Draco's eyes—the eye of the storm.

I took a few breaths and decided that the lightheaded feeling was most definitely not from lack of oxygen.

"God," I breathed, unable to throw off the effects.

His eyes grew a bit more intense at that. "How's that for proving it, then?" he asked, in a tone I'd never heard before but instantly decided I loved, just the same.

I started to speak. "It—well, that is—" I realized I didn't know. I hadn't really been looking for that type of confirmation, yet it had confirmed _something _in my mind. I decided to be honest. "It wasn't what I was expecting."

I had been thinking he'd finally confide in me—share things about himself, his worries, his fears, his life, his dreams.

'Course, had I actually expected him to open up to me and pour out his feelings? Not really, but it was what I had been hoping for.

Not that I disproved of his method by _any _means, mind you.

He smiled a bit at my words, glancing to the floor momentarily. "I'm not much good at saying things when I need to sometimes." He quirked a brow and grinned before continuing, "Besides, I think I prefer this means to yours, anyhow."

He had a point.

He smirked again, glancing down at his chest. "Seems you did as well."

I followed his gaze and it was only then that I noticed I was holding a fistful of his shirt in each hand.

Right then. _That _was embarrassing.

I felt my face positively burn. I couldn't be sure, but I think I put Ron to shame.

I promptly released my grip on the garment and began pulling away only to find him quicker. With what I can only call the reflexes of a Seeker he effortlessly caught one of my hands with his own. When I looked up into his eyes again the mirth was gone, replaced with something that floored me.

Sincerity. I had suspected it once or twice before, but I had absolutely no doubt that this time it was the real thing. It's one of those emotions you can't fake; when you experience something so genuine, you just know. Draco was choosing to be sincere _with me._ The realization melted me.

"It's okay, you know," he murmured. He moved my hand back to his chest, flattening my palm gently under his over a particular portion.

I nearly started crying again when I felt his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. The soft pulse of it seemed to wrap me in a blanket of comforting warmth and reassurance. The gesture spoke volumes.

No, it wasn't the type of confirmation and openness I had been hoping for, but you had to start somewhere. There was now no doubt in my mind that he cared, and that was all that mattered. He didn't have to tell me all his secrets and feelings right away, because I was beginning to think that for Draco I would wait until the far side of forever.

**END CHP 17**

**I hope that was a little bit more closure than last chapter. Please let me know what you thought- this one was terribly hard for me to write.**


	19. Chapter 19

**I apologize for the long wait. I will respond to no-doubt furious questions as to why this took so long with one phrase: college is a bitch.**

**AOME: CHP 18**

Euphoria is a funny thing. It quite literally feels like you're on top of the world, but sooner or later, as is the case with all good things despite how much I wish it weren't true, it comes to an end..

In a haphazard sort of way, I was experiencing the same type of thing.

It wasn't to say that I wasn't happy anymore—oh no, that surely wasn't possible—but that I was merely drained. I had been all over the emotional map today, done hard labor all afternoon out in the cold, made dinner, become downright hysterical several times, played chess, jumped out of my skin countless times, finally admitted my secret, cried so hard my whole body ached and finally…Draco had kissed me.

I had had a bit of a day. I was _tired_.

It was rather scary how suddenly it had come on, too. After I had come to peace with Draco's admission, it was like my body had decided that all was now settled, and that it could finally rest.

It was fairly embarrassing, actually. One moment I was listening to Draco's assurance that everything was alright whilst I felt his chest beneath my fingers, and the next thing I knew I was opening my eyes to find myself sagging in his arms, as if I had fainted.

Some crash, eh?

"Ginny?"

I jerked awake, opening my eyes blearily to peer up at the smudgy cream colored mass calling my name. The figure began to take shape after I blinked several times, and I nearly closed my eyes again in contentment and went back to sleep when I realized it was Draco.

In fact, the only reason I didn't is because he had a rather unusual look on his face. It was a mixture of what I could tell was amusement, but he seemed to be trying to conceal it under a form of concern, which looked extremely awkward and foreign to his features.

When I realized I wasn't standing on my own accord it became clear where the concern was coming from.

"Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry. Did I…er….?" I trailed off, closing one eye in trepidation.

Draco raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not quite sure, actually. At first I thought you had fainted, you see, because you nearly went limp."

I winced, closing the other eye and throwing the back of my hand over my face.

"But then," he continued, and I could just _hear _the smug amusement in his voice, "I figured you must've fallen asleep, what with the snoring and all."

My eyes flew open. "_Snoring_?!" I exclaimed, mortified.

He smirked in response.

I groaned. "Oh, hell."

"Well think about it this way—it couldn't have been too terribly unattractive, because I let you remain in that state for a good couple of minutes. In fact, the only reason I woke you was because I was beginning to fear for you health. Some of the noises you were making…" he trailed off, making a grim face.

I was ninety-percent sure he was bluffing, but part of me was still severely troubled by that comment.

"It's been a long day, alright? There's something wrong with you if you're not drained after that whole bit," I defended, though still embarrassed. I took a moment to reinstate my footing, which was somewhat challenging, as if my coordination was completely barmy.

Draco relinquished his grip on my shoulders after he was happy that I was fit to stand on my own accord. "I suppose a bit. I don't need much sleep."

"Even you've got to be spent after today," I insisted. "Bloody nutters not to be. Besides, you sure passed out when we first arrived."

With a level eye, Draco responded, "Call me crazy, but that may have been partly due to the fact that I had to haul around the likes of a hysterical witch through four feet of snow."

"Well now we both know that there's no denying that that was your fault."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. "My fault, was it?"

"Precisely. You drove me to my wits end! You wouldn't have had to carry me if you hadn't made me so bloody mad."

He seemed to find this amusing, and leaned forward, so that he was nearly eye-level with me. "I'd gladly take the blame for that," he murmured in that new tone of his, which I was beginning to think was far too unfair of him to use, as it had a nearly dangerous effect on me.

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, then stepped out from between him and the desk. True, he had kissed me and there was now no reason for me to think that my reaction to him would come as a shock, but I hadn't exactly secured the right to have free reign over his body, either, however much I wished it. I wasn't quite sure where the boundaries were at this point.

I could feel his eyes on my back. "I do feel a little guilty about that, though. I wish you'd at least try to sleep, if only a little. There's no reason to stay awake, anyhow," I pointed out. I had a strange feeling he was smirking.

"Fair enough," I heard him respond, and I was unsurprised to hear the smugness in his tone.

I was just about to feel satisfied with his response when I realized something that completely obliterated that feeling. Why this had only just occurred to me I'm not sure, but as I glanced towards the bed it was only then that I realized how small it was, and how large the two of us were.

I turned around awkwardly, wondering whether or not Draco had noticed this problem as well. It wasn't that we _couldn't _fit, you see, but rather that if we were to _make_ ourselves fit there wouldn't be much room for anything else. As always, this was a double-sided issue to my mind.

I tried to play the situation down, casually glancing back at Draco, though I had a nasty feeling my eyes were a bit wider than normal judging by his response.

He seemed to be gauging my reaction, and with a calm expression, gestured towards the bed with a sweeping hand motion. "It's all yours." He smiled slightly, and I blushed as I realized he must have sensed my discomfort. So much for playing it suave.

I blinked stupidly before the meaning sunk in. "What? Where are _you _going to sleep?" I asked, concern and guilt washing over me once again.

Draco shrugged as if this was unimportant. "Weasley, I'm a smart man. I'll figure something out."

"Don't be ridiculous—there's plenty of room for the both of us," I protested, trying to sound resolute. The bed seemed to be shrinking by the second.

Draco chuckled. "That's not really the problem, is it?" he asked, turning to me with a roguish grin, though I could have sworn it appeared a bit bitter. "Besides, how do you know I'm not a bed hog?"

I was caught by surprise. "_Are _you?" I tried to restrain a smile.

He simply smiled mysteriously. "You're the one that wanted to crawl into bed so badly—get on with it, will you?"

I said the first thing that came to mind, without thinking it over first. Such a thing was a bad call on my part, for it yielded a horrible result.

"Not unless you come with me."

Draco seemed to be stifling a laugh as he raised an eyebrow, but I could have sworn I saw his eyes flash with something other than mirth, if only for a moment.

A few more moments passed.

"Very well," he stated smoothly, voice completely in control once again.

My stomach did such a tremendous somersault I thought I was going to be sick. That was it?! It was that easy?

I swallowed, and responded in an even tone that was the exact opposite of what I was feeling. "Fine."

I glanced at the bed again, and felt a hand on my back ushering me forward—it really is alarming how fast he can move sometimes. I resisted the urge to dig my heels into the ground, mainly because the last time I had attempted said strategy it had resulted in a rather embarrassing episode.

When we reached the bedside I remained standing, my hands clenched into fists and limbs stiff.

Thankfully I was saved the trouble of explaining that I couldn't use said appendages because he reached around me and smoothly pulled back the blankets. I climbed in numbly, sliding all the way to the wall, shaking. I felt him follow suit, and my body went as stiff as a board.

Draco rolled to his side, facing me, and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut. I vaguely felt him fluff the pillows, followed by shifting a large amount of blanket in my direction, which I suspected might be to ensure that I had enough, but I found that doubtful.

"Comfortable?" came his smooth voice from near my ear, so close I nearly jumped. I could feel his chest rising and falling against my arm, which twitched longingly with the desire to touch him.

"Yes," I lied.

There was an abrupt whoosh of air and suddenly he was no longer against my arm at all. "Splendid. I can leave, then."

My stomach gave another flip, and I sat bolt upright. "What?!" I exclaimed.

"You never said I had to _sleep _here, simply that I had to get into bed with you," he pointed out as he climbed out from under the blankets.

Why that conniving little…little…!

I spluttered angrily at him for implementing such juvenile antics before sticking my tongue out at him and promptly rolling over with a huff to stare at the wall.

"Fine," I growled, feeling betrayed and utterly manipulated. "If you want to act childish, go right ahead."

I was in the midst of thinking how perfectly content I was with ignoring him for the remainder of the evening, Merlin be damned where he ended up sleeping, when a series of awkward shuffling noises piqued my curiosity and I gave in. It didn't really matter—I knew myself well enough to say with confidence that I couldn't have ignored him the whole night anyhow.

I rolled over to see Draco shifting the large armchair slightly, followed by the rickety old desk chair. He positioned the latter several feet from the armchair, with its back to the side, as if he was trying to create one large, continuous chair.

"What are you _doing_?" I asked incredulously, eyes narrowed.

He turned towards the bed, completely ignoring my question, apparently in search of something.

His eyes landed on an item near my feet. "Might I borrow that?"

Confused, I glanced down and saw that he was referring to a rather thin afghan. Suspicious, I asked a question that, in retrospect, was pretty moronic. "What do you want it for?"

He raised an eyebrow. "To sleep with," he responded dryly.

I craned my neck so as to get a proper view of the contraption behind him. The desk chair was lower to the ground than the armchair, creating two differing levels of support that would no doubt bed his back in a lovely manner. Together the two only made a relatively flat surface of about three or four feet. I could only imagine how his long legs would dangle off the end awkwardly.

"You can't possibly mean to _sleep _on that thing."

"The only matter left to decide is whether it'll be with or without a blanket."

"I'm not allowing this." I protested defiantly.

"I take it that means I don't get the blanket. Very well, then. Goodnight, Weasley."

And without further elaboration, he blew out the three remaining candles in one huff, effectively shrouding the entire room in pitch darkness.

There was another series of shuffling noises, a soft thunk followed by a muttered curse, an extremely strange creaking noise, and then complete silence.

I remained sitting for a few minutes, staring blankly in the direction of where Draco's sleeping apparatus was located. When he stubbornly refused to comment, I asked, "You're not actually going to do this, are you?"

"Some of us are trying to go some rest, Weasley. I'm bloody tired." His voice sounded somewhat strained, as if something was poking him in the back, and thoroughly _un_-tired.

I rolled my eyes and flopped onto my back. "Have it your way," I said in a clipped tone. "I'll just have to try to take up this entire bed all by myself."

There was a very distinct squeaking noise, followed by another muffled curse.

I paused at this, an entirely ludicrous idea forming. It was somewhat demeaning, quite unlikely to be affective, and would no doubt end in total humiliation. It had one big thing going for it, however—it was the only plan I really had.

"It's rather chilly here all by myself," I stated timidly, hardly believing I was actually doing this.

No response.

"And actually, not nearly as comforting. Rather lonesome, in fact," I continued, trying to make my voice smooth.

There was a grunt followed by the rustling of fabric.

Somewhat encouraged, I decided to step things up a notch. "I hate being alone when I sleep—I love the feeling of being close to someone."

The chair groaned sickeningly.

I felt my face burn at the thought of what I was about to say, and I was sure he would be able to see it even in the dark. "Don't you like that, Draco? The feeling of someone else's body pressed up against you all night long?"

There was a crack and a deafening thud.

Sitting bolt upright, I leaned over the edge of the bed, completely unsure of where he had fallen, which is what I assumed had occurred. There was no response. I leaned down farther, fear beginning to seize me.

"Dra—"

All words were cut off with a strangled cry as a strong pair of arms abruptly pulled me off the bed and onto the floor—or more accurately, a very warm, very masculine body. I gasped upon the contact, completely taken by surprise. I could immediately feel my body start to tingle. From what I could tell, I was positioned somewhere on his lap, but it didn't really make much of a difference anyway as a pair a lips erased all of my thoughts.

The kiss was different this time—it was rough, demanding, fueled by an emotion that I easily identified as lust. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the fact that my little seduction charade had worked, though I hadn't exactly intended to end up with the both of us on the floor. Oh well—Draco was much more comfortable than the bed anyhow.

I nearly cried out when a hand snaked up to rest at the base of my neck, and when the other began sliding under my shirt and up my back I was fairly certain I did. I began to feel a desperate need building within me, and suddenly needed more. My hands traced the path from his own up to his shoulders, relishing the feeling of the toned muscles beneath my fingers. They continued along the contour of his shoulders and up the back of his neck, resting to tangle in fine strands of smooth hair, which was just as soft as I had imagined, and entirely worth enduring every mind-boggling antic he had ever thrown at me.

Draco inhaled sharply when this happened, breaking contact for a moment to let out what I could have sworn was a groan.

And then, quite abruptly, "Ginny, stop," he bit out, in what sounded like a painful, strangled manner. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat was dry.

I cringed, trying desperately to mask my disappointment. "What? Why?" The tone of his voice, raspy and low, demanded I do the opposite.

"Because you're not the only one that reacts, you know. This is precisely why I didn't want to sleep next to you," he whispered in my ear. It sounded like an admission, and I wished that I could see his face. Still, I failed to see how it applied.

"So?" I for one found the fact that he was reacting to me a very good thing.

"_So_?" he exclaimed in what sounded like disbelief. "You're the one that just made me prove that I care about things other than this and you wonder why I stopped? It'd be a pretty poor idea to let things get out of hand after that discussion, wouldn't you agree?"

I frowned guiltily, the logic beginning to sink in. "S'pose so," I muttered. I begrudgingly made to move off of his lap and onto the floor, but was promptly poked in the arse when I attempted to sit.

"What is this?" I wondered aloud, wrenching a piece of something out from under me.

"Wood, probably."

It took me a moment to piece together how exactly this had occurred, when I suddenly recalled the cacophonic noise from earlier.

"So the chair…?" I asked tentatively, trying, but not too hard, to hide the amusement in my voice.

I could feel Draco send me a glare in the darkness, which clearly stated that he was able to see through my charade without effort. I found that I didn't much care. "Is indisposed," he finished.

"What happened, exactly?"

"Well it was no thanks to you," he sneered, in a tone that made it plain he held me entirely responsible for the whole incident, and that the fact that _he_ was the one that had constructed and decided to sleep upon that feeble contraption he had tried to pass off as a bed had absolutely nothing to do with it whatsoever. "I was trying to roll over, to drown out your voice, and apparently the shifted weight destroyed the leg."

"I reckon it wasn't sturdy enough," I consoled, trying to sympathize. Unfortunately it came across as slightly mocking instead, which, again, I didn't feel bad about in the least.

"Obviously," he responded, and I knew that he had rolled his eyes, despite the darkness. He tried to use the same tone as before, but I could detect a bit of resentment underneath his words.

There was a moment of silence, during which I assumed Draco mourned the loss of his only excuse for giving me the entire bed.

"Well, let's get off the floor," I suggested, standing up on wobbly legs and suppressing the jittery sensation that was threatening to overcome me.

"There's really not enough--"

"Draco, you've no choice in the matter. Where are you planning on sleeping, the floor?" I demanded, secretly pleased my plan had somehow miraculously worked out, albeit in a different way than intended.

There was another pause, as if he was actually considering the floor an option, and I groaned, exasperated.

"Are you that uncomfortable with the idea of being that close to me?" I asked, incredulous and slightly brassed-off at the fact that he was trying this desperately to avoid the situation.

"What?" he scoffed. "How can you honestly think that after...," His voice cut off, and I flushed. He sighed before continuing. "As I said, I don't want things to get out of hand, and I am simply trying to put myself out of temptations reach." He stated the last part like a fact, but I still felt my mouth go dry at the implications within the words.

"I—I promise not to do anything,… er..." I couldn't seem to make myself say the word—it seemed too ridiculous to use it to describe myself.

Draco scoffed again, and mumbled something about not having to try that hard under his breath.

I steeled myself, and said what seemed to be the last thing that would change his mind. "It's not like I'd protest if something were to happen, anyway."

"That's not the point!" he snapped, suddenly enraged. Had I not grown used to his mood swings I would've jumped; as it was, I simply found myself confused.

"Look, this is all kind of irrelevant. If you don't want anything to happen and I won't let anything happen, we've nothing to worry about," I assured him in a voice that was more confident than I felt.

"I—" he sighed hugely, as if finally accepting defeat.

"Let's just get some sleep," I added, closing the subject. "Merlin knows we both need it. Come on." I groped blindly for the side of the bed in the darkness, and climbed in first, sliding all the way to the wall. After a few moments, Draco followed. We barely managed to fit into the bed without touching each other.

I immediately tried squeezing my eyes shut but, having the feeble luck I possess, of course, instantly found myself completely alert.

Wonderful.

Curious as to whether or not Draco was comfortably situated, I listened closely, but was unable to detect even the sound of him breathing. In fact, the only thing I _did _notice was the thick tension hanging in the air between us, heavier than any blanket.

I don't know how long we remained like that, but to me it felt like ages. I did everything I could think of in an attempt to distract myself and relax, but to no avail. Finally, after my third attempt at counting hippogriffs, Draco broke the silence.

"So I've been thinking," he started in a clear tone that indicated he had had about as much luck sleeping as I had, "about the real reason neither of us are sleeping yet. If I'm not mistaken it's due to the fact that we can't bloody-well relax because we're so damned afraid of crossing boundaries. Would you agree?"

I felt my eyes widen at his language, which rarely became foul, before considering his words. "Yes, I'd say so."

"Right," he said curtly, as if preparing himself for something. "Well, the way I see it is like this: the reason we're afraid of crossing boundaries is because we want this to be based on something other than the physical, correct?"

I took a brief moment to wonder what 'this' meant, and another to slow my heart at the implication that he was considering the future, and that I appeared to be in it. A hoarse "yeah" was all I could manage.

"Likewise, if we were to be sure that our relationship—"

My heart took off like a rocket, thundering so loudly in my chest I would have bet my life that Draco could hear it. My brain couldn't even form a coherent thought, instead repeating three things over and over, as if in shock.

_Me...relationship...Draco...me...relationship..._ I struggled to pay attention to what he was saying.

"—was honest and open enough so that we could be rid of such doubt, the boundaries, essentially, could be done away with altogther."

"Well, yes," I responded, unsure of where he was going with this and still in shock from the fact that he considered us to have a _relationship._ I felt like he was throwing far too many things at me at one time, as if I was barely able to comprehend them all. "But how exactly do you propose we do that?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. That alone should have tipped me off— I had long since learned that, with Draco, you couldn't _really_ expect anything.

In a clear, determined voice, as if he had thought it through, he said, "I'm going to confide in you."

I froze, which you would think impossible when you're lying down, but trust me, I have never been so still in my entire life. I tried to speak, but found that my throat had closed up. It was as if my body had shut down, unable to do multiple things in addition to this multitude of new information, such as breathe and circulate blood at the same time.

I heard him take a deep breath before continuing. "Besides, I'm sick of listening to the part of my brain that insists on yelling at me to trust you," he muttered.

I rejoiced at the fact that I wasn't the only one that experienced said phenomenon, and would have laughed at the irony under normal circumstances.

There was a pause before he spoke again, and when he did I almost flinched at the tone of his voice—I couldn't quite put my finger on why, but something about it was ridiculously scary.

"I'm assuming you remember what I mentioned earlier about my father," he stated, in an eerie sounding monotone.

I found my voice as I realized I wanted to comfort him, to make him sound normal. "Of course."

"I'm also assuming then, that you, being of solid intellect, were able to gather that things between us aren't exactly ideal."

I swallowed. "I did."

"Right," he said dully. "It really goes back to what I was telling you this afternoon while we were shoveling. As I said, my father is convinced that he knows precisely what's best for me and my future. He is insistent that making certain…choices is the only way to keep our family and its status secure."

An icy hand seemed to grab hold of my chest. "Choices?" I whispered.

"Yes." There was a pause, and when he spoke again his voice was so hollow I almost didn't recognize it. "Particularly those concerning my allegiance."

My stomach plummeted. I said the only thing I could manage. "No," I whispered, not wanting to believe it.

Draco let out sharp, nearly hysterical laugh. "It's not that surprising, is it?" My father's been in and out of Azkaban, hasn't he? It's no secret—only natural that he'd want me to continue on. Says it'll protect the family, and that there's no way to back out. It'd be like committing treason."

I couldn't breathe. My lungs stung, eyes burned. It took a great deal of effort to form the words that I knew I had to say, and when I was finally able to, it was so shaky and uneven I didn't even think he could understand. "He wants…he wants you to swear your allegiance to V-Voldemort," I choked.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

I swallowed, though with difficulty, and forced myself to continue. "And you don't want to." I could feel myself trembling, petrified of what his response would be.

There was a pause so long I was almost certain he was going to contradict me, to say that I had misunderstood. Maybe that would have been easier to hear instead of his reply.

His answer was barely audible. "No."

It was like a tidal wave hit me in slow motion. I slowly felt every part of my being, mental and physical, become absolutely overwhelmed. I was light-headed—shock, horror, hate—everything came crashing down to engulf me.

"You know what the scariest part of it is?" he continued. "There are things about it that appeal to me—the respect, the power—but it's like signing your life away. And Voldemort isn't the person I want to give mine to."

I became aware that I was shaking my head absently, and took my first breath in what felt like minutes, quivering terribly, and brought a trembling hand to my throat.

"Draco you—" I choked for the second time. "Oh God," I managed to wheeze.

I felt utterly useless to him, as if nothing I could say would matter. Filled with complete desperation to do something, I did the only thing I could think of: I rolled over, clutching to his chest with all of my strength.

He didn't seem to know how to respond to the gesture. His body was stiff, as if surprised.

I didn't let go.

"I'm here," I whispered, snuggling closer. My eyes spilled over, creating a wet spot on his t-shirt. "I just want you to know that."

The phrase that had somehow become our support system seemed to work, and he slowly moved to pull an arm out from under me, ushering me slightly to him.

"There's more," came his voice. It sounded strained, as if he was trying very hard to remain unemotional.

I ran a hand up his arm in what I hoped was a soothing manner.

"All of this creates a lot of tension in the household. My father—well, he doesn't have the most reputable communication skills. When he's stressed he solves his problems by forgetting about them."

I waited, heart racing.

"He drinks. He does stupid things—says stuff he'd never—" he sighed. "Most of the time I can handle the things he says—I'm used to it. But sometimes he hits nerves, and my control slips." He let out a mirthless laugh. "Last summer my father and I had just had an argument. He left the house and returned a few hours later completely gone, and started things up again. My mother hates it when we fight, and tried to get him to settle down, but that sent him even more over the edge. I intervened, then, tried to get him to see reason, and when I did he told me that I was killing my mother by jeopardizing her safety—that clearly I didn't love her enough, or I'd be willing to make the pledge. I snapped. I punched him—I punched my _father_." He let out what almost sounded like a cough.

Chest aching, I sought out his hand in the darkness, grabbing hold tightly. When he drew a deep breath I felt his chest rise unevenly beneath me.

"Oh, Draco…" I murmured, "I'm so sorry."

"Ginny, I—I don't want you to—" His voice was hoarse, and unless I was very much mistaken, he was crying. I knew better than to hurt his pride by admitting I knew such a thing, however.

"Don't worry," I said quietly, "I'm still here."

Knowing my words couldn't solve anything, I simply held on to him, whispering that everything was going to be okay anyway until his breathing slowed, and I was sure he was dreaming.

Only then did I reach up and wipe the tears from his face.

**END CHP 18**


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